Alliance
by GieGie
Summary: The T Virus has made a global outbreak, and Chris Redfield is struggling to make it to a safe haven, picking up clues behind the mysteries surrounding the outbreaks along the way.  Written as an alt timeline to RE5, more information in the first chapter!
1. Prologue

Resident Evil

Alliance

_Author's Note_

Hello readers! It's been a very, very long time since I last attempted to write a Resident Evil fan fiction, and with that being said, there's three reasons for it. The first is that I'd been writing original fics and I wanted to give up on fan fictions in order to make way for them. So after my last big fan fiction endeavor, I retired for a while. But I now feel the calling to work on another fiction in the Resident Evil universe, so here goes my attempt!

The second reason for this fiction is this, and **please read carefully!** And note, if you don't like original characters, don't read this story at all.

I've played every Resident Evil game in the main series to date (excluding Resident Evil 3) and the latest edition, Resident Evil 5, seemed to leave something to be desired - even by Resident Evil standards. While I'm very certain there are those of you out there who loved Resident Evil 5 and all its glory (which, don't jump the gun here, I'm not saying it's a bad game), for me, the storyline was bland and I really don't like the direction they're taking the games in.

Many who know me well know I'm a Wesker fangirl, and might try to argue with me that I'm just being biased because Wesker bites the big one in Resident Evil 5. I disagree. It's not my bias towards my favorite character, but just the general doubt of the storyline's direction that has me wondering if I'll be back to play future games. Don't get me wrong, the Resident Evil Fan in me will always get excited over the prospect of a new game, but here lately, I just haven't been feeling it.

So, _those of you who loved Resident Evil 5 and don't want to see anything going against it, then please don't read this!_ This story is being written as if Resident Evil 5 never took place. The sequence with Wesker and Chris facing off in Spencer's castle/mansion where Jill throws herself from a window is still a part of the storyline, but in this version, Chris never quite makes it to Africa those two years later. In fact, the story picks up close to only a year after that event.

Yes, Sheva Fans, this means no Sheva Alomar. I _love_ her to death, I really do, but she's been cut out of this fic. I'd say I might include her in a cameo, but I probably won't because I hate scenes where some character you love shows up for like five seconds, does nothing, and then disappears again. That's insulting to good characters in my opinion, and I'd rather not do that to Sheva.

The last reason? Simple; the **god awful** live action movies. I'm completely sorry to movie enthusiasts, but I can't stand the movies. The first was fine as a stand alone, but they've progressively gotten worse and worse over time, _even as stand alone's_, and I'm only amazed by the fact that they've managed to achieve a worse rating each time around even though every time I watched one I'd say "there's no way they can get any worse than this". It's my firm belief that Paul Anderson needs to be banned and forbidden from making any sort of movie for any sort of project, especially revolving around video games, for the rest of his existence.

Some people might say "if you think you can do better, then try it". Well, sadly I'm not a director, and I don't have the money to try it, so a fan fiction will be the next best thing. Not that it's a challenge to make something better than he's done so far. (Once again, no offense to the movie goers, but it's been my experience that the movie goers of this franchise didn't really start playing the games until later on in anyway.)

So if you guys don't like the sound of this, then don't read it, plain and simple. But one thing I can promise you that the last two games didn't is Zombies - lots and lots of Zombies.

With that being said, let's try to survive the zombie apocalypse, shall we?

_Prologue_

_November 15__th__, 2007_

_Washington, D.C._

_11:47 PM_

"You look like you've had a long night."

The transmission sending the image of Ingrid Hunnigan was as clear as a bell, being in Nation's capital where the two signals were both located currently. Leon S. Kennedy was helping to oversee security for the Windsor Hyatt Hotel in Washington D.C. during a convention. Currently there were thirty three members of the United Nations staying there to have a week long conference held in the Hotel's high class conference rooms in order to discuss furthering treaties and laws on bio-terrorism. It was a fairly important venue, and security was in high demand for it.

It wasn't as rough as it could've been, no, but at the same time, Leon was worn out because he'd had to do a ton of traveling over the past week. That, and he'd had a bad feeling - one he couldn't shake - that something, somewhere, was off somehow. There'd been a report about two weeks beforehand of a shipment tracked via satellite carrying unknown contents from a bunker that had been suspected of storing bio-weapons to a location in Northern Africa, and ever since, that bad feeling had been settled in Leon's mind like someone had cemented it there, progressively getting worse and worse.

"I have," Leon replied to the woman appearing on his handheld. Then he added sarcastically, "It's nice to know you can see that, even through video."

Hunnigan smiled, informing Leon, "I didn't mean to insult you. It's been a long day here too. But I need your report on security at the Windsor Hyatt for the official records."

"I know," Leon replied, having much rather given Hunnigan a report on security rather than return to the hotel to continue working as he had been. Currently, he was walking down the street. The late hour showed off the stars in the clear sky, making for a nice night, even though it was a bit cold for the late Autumn evening. Leon's jacket took care of that however, and he carried a bag in his opposite hand.

"Speaking of which," Hunnigan added, "where are you anyway?"

Leon wasn't normally a go-for guy, but when the guys helping him with the security endeavors had talked about picking up a few steak and cheese hoagies, he'd offered to go get them just to leave the hotel for a short while and get a little reprieve.

"I'm heading back to the hotel now," Leon replied, not being completely forthcoming on the details with where he was or why he was there. After all, Hunnigan was an intelligence agent - a damned good one to boot - and Leon liked to make things difficult wherever he could concerning this type of inconsequential thing. So he only told her in addition, "As for security, it's going fine, and the steak and cheese hoagies here are very tasty."

Leon had said that with a smirk on his face, and in response, he heard, "Is that your professional statement, Agent Kennedy, or should I consider that off the books?"

Leon couldn't help a soft chuckle, knowing what she was asking of him. Continuing on down the road he told her a slight bit more seriously, "I'll give you a call back about it when I get in the hotel again."

"Fair enough," Hunnigan returned with a little smile. After all, she hadn't expected to find him outside of the hotel - making it a security risk in itself to talk about the details of what had been going on since there was no telling who could've walked by at random and heard the conversation. "I'll just let you go for now then, and..."

Leon came to a stop at the corner of a road where the 'do not walk' sign was lit up, but he stopped because Hunnigan had trailed off. Looking back down at her face, he asked, "What is it?"

She wasn't looking directly at the screen broadcasting her face, but instead, down, at one of the monitors she had settled before her. Without pause, she reported to Leon, "I'm picking up a report from the White House. They're saying there's been a code 5A-37. It's being tracked somewhere above the eastern seaboard."

Leon's brows narrowed over the code she gave, which he knew the meaning of by heart, and then listened as she went on, "Leon, this is serious. I might have to let you go and call–,"

"Wait a second, Hunnigan," Leon told the woman as he'd heard an odd sound off in the distant sky. "You said being tracked over the eastern seaboard?"

"What?"

"I hear something," he informed her, looking up. He knew he wouldn't be able to see much of anything because of the tall buildings in the inner city, but as the sound grew louder and louder, he kept feeling as if he might just see something - if not be in danger himself. That's when it happened. To him and anyone else standing on the roadway looking up - which no one else was around at that particular time - it looked like a shooting star that was coming in close, blazing overhead at such a high speed that he only saw it for a brief flash. Then it was gone , only leaving behind the sound it had made and the agent who'd seen it to follow the direction it'd disappeared in with his eyes.

"I just saw it overhead. I'm gonna have to go. Get on a wire to the White House and confirm the visual sighting with them."

"On it," Hunnigan replied and then disconnected the line. Leon shoved his phone back into his pocket and dropped the bag he'd been carrying in order to make a sprint back to the hotel. It was only a block away, so the run wouldn't be too far. He didn't have a choice but to move fast either, and as he got outside of the hotel, he heard his phone ringing again.

Reaching into his pocket, he tugged the device out without ever stopping his tracks until he'd made it to the doors of the Windsor Hyatt, and then lifted his hand to accept the call. The number he saw was familiar, and he answered it, saying, "General?"

"Leon, get over to the White House right now. We've got reports coming in from all over. You're being reassigned. Baity will take over the security at the Windsor."

Having had a feeling that was coming, Leon breathed out a long sigh and responded, "Yes sir, I'm on my way," before he hung up his phone and then went to grab the keys to his jeep that was parked on the parking deck across the street. As soon as he had them in hand, he took a step, and suddenly stopped. Off in the distance, he heard a sound, one that might've been described as a distant clap of thunder by some people, but to trained ears like his, he knew exactly what it meant.

That bad feeling he'd been having all week long now came back with a vengeance. Sometimes he hated being right all the time.


	2. Retreat

_Chapter 1 - Retreat_

_4 Days Later - November 19__th__, 2007_

_Pinedale, Wyoming_

_9:15 PM_

_There she stood in the doorway; I heard the mission bell, and I was thinking to myself 'this could be heaven and this could be hell'. Then she lit up a candle, and she showed me the way. There were voices down the corridor, thought I heard them say, "Welcome to the Hotel California_".

The radio sounded the words and music of Hotel California by The Eagles as the Hummer carrying it traveled down the cold, forest shrouded road. The song was sang along with at random intervals as the driver speed more due to irritation than to any kind of habit at that point in time.

Though it was a well known fact; Chris Redfield _did_ have a habit of speeding from time to time.

Chris had been staying at a fishing lodge in Pinedale, Wyoming for the past week - it was a mandatory vacation. After putting in what everyone called endless hours of work, his superiors had told Chris that if he didn't take a vacation somewhere for at least a little while, they'd make sure he spent a month seeing a psychiatrist - the worst thing they could think of for the man to have to do. To top it off, they set him up a place to stay in a lodge that was about as remote and outdoors as you could get without actually living in the dark ages.

There was electricity and indoor plumbing, but there weren't any televisions in the lodge itself, and the closest phone was a payphone down the road - giving the true meaning of outdoor living to the description. It was located at least thirty miles from the nearest civilization on the shores of a huge lake.

Apparently, his superiors wanted him to take a break from not only his work, but from the world itself.

He supposed they had good enough reason. After all, losing a partner of over ten years worth of time was hard on anyone in his line of work, and after Jill Valentine had been presumed dead, Chris had definitely felt the loss. Somewhere deep down, he refused to believe that his partner and long time friend was truly dead, but as for how she might actually be alive after taking such along fall down a cliff side with his hated enemy, Albert Wesker, he had no idea.

He guessed his superiors just thought that after Jill, it was time for him to go on a break to try to make sure he wasn't headed for a meltdown.

Chris decided that if he had to do this, then he was going to do it right. He'd rented an RV which he'd hitched to the back of his Hummer and when he realized just how remote and quiet the place was, he decided he'd spend all day on the lake fishing, and then cook whatever he'd caught at night - in the process avoiding all contact with the outside world, just like they wanted him to.

After all, if that didn't drive him even crazier than his normal workaholic habits apparently would, then he'd never go insane, and he wanted to show them just what completely cutting himself off from the rest of the world might do since they were so adamant about him doing it.

So it was just him and Dutch - a German Shepard and Siberian Husky mix who had more greyish fur than brown, though there were a few of the earthen tones mixed in with the grey. Chris had owned the dog for about three and a half months now. A friend of his that he'd visited in Philly who was moving couldn't take Dutch with him, so Chris offered to give the dog a place to stay until he could find an owner who could give it better care. But as time passed, Dutch began to grow on Chris, and now he considered himself the dog's full-time owner.

At first arrival to the lodge with Dutch, he felt on edge and uncertain what to do with himself, but eventually, he really started to appreciate the quiet. The absence of a ringing phone and people nagging him at every turn appeared to be just what he'd needed to get his mind really cleared out and to feel refreshed. Besides, Dutch seemed to like the mountain-lakeside setting, especially because of all of the animals about that he could chase.

The only time Chris used his own phone was to call his sister, but apparently, reception out that far was extremely bad for his particular carrier. He managed to talk to her the second night he was on vacation for about an hour, and then he got cut off before she could even pick up on the third night. Seeing that he was getting no signal whatsoever the very next day, he decided to let the phone charge for as long as possible while he went out on the lake again, and would try later.

But later only brought a fully charged battery, and still no signal. Something about that wasn't right. He should've at least been able to call the lodge manager from where he was, but he couldn't make a call at all. As he'd stared at the words 'no signal' on the phone, something began to settle like a stone in his stomach - something off, extremely off.

Chris decided to get back in touch with the real world and went out to the rented RV to see what kind of stations the Satellite would pick up for him, but even then, there was only static - except for a station he was barely able to receive a signal on, and all he could see was a reporter, and the unclear words and sounds didn't give him too much of an idea of anything.

So he'd been driving down the backwoods highway that led into town so he could call his vacation short, Dutch settled in the seat next to him. He wasn't due out of the lodge for another two days, but without the ability to make a single call, he was worried. Maybe it was just his paranoid imagination, and who knew, maybe he _did_ need to lay on a couch in some therapist's office for a while, but either way, he was ready to at least go back home and spend his final two vacation days in the civilized world.

_Welcome to the Hotel California. Such a lovely place, such a lovely face. They're living it up at the Hotel California, what a nice surprise, bring your alibis_.

The song brought him back to the present as he looked out the front windshield to see the sign that read "Pinedale Fishing Lodge - Manager's Lodge" arched over the roadway, and he slowed down so he could pull his Hummer into the parking lot outside of the cabin and come to a stop in front. As the Hummer pulled up and Chris pushed on the break to come to a stop, he patted Dutch, who stuck his head up, and ordered the canine to, "Stay here, I'll be right back."

_Relax said the night man, we are programmed to receive. You can check out anytime you'd like, but you can never leave._ The car was turned off on those words, making Chris roll his eyes at their implication as he reached for the driver's side door and climbed out of the car. It was a dark night, made even darker by the lack of street lights and the trees blocking out the moonlight, just as nice and quiet as the rest of the area had been during his stay there.

Chris shoved his keys into his pocket and headed toward the office door, reaching to grab the handle and pull it open. He didn't really think twice about the darkness. He'd seen enough in his lifetime that he almost felt comfortable in it.

Inside was the lobby where the reception desk sat behind a few rows of glass casings showing off artifacts from the area and the town's history, hunting supplies such as knives and even a few bows and arrows on display, as well as fish mounted on the wall that had been caught in the lake the lodge had been built around - some of them monsters, which Chris hadn't specifically caught on this particular fishing trip.

But he didn't pay them any attention as he went heading toward the front counter, looking into the backroom since no one was manning the station, then tried to see down the hallway that led to the right behind the counter, calling out a, "Hello?," when he didn't see anyone.

There was a bell on the counter and he pressed it, waiting for someone to walk up and help him while tugging out his phone once more to see if reception had improved. Still no signal however, and with a roll of his eyes, Chris asked, "Anyone there? I need to use the phone." He knew he could've used the public payphone closer to the lodges that belonged to the rustic retreat, but he'd been so irritated that he hadn't even cared to stop and do so.

He saw a shadow in the backroom then as he'd had the thought, coming toward the door slowly, and he watched as a woman rounded the corner carrying two stacks of books, shoulder length blonde hair done in curls, wearing a white sundress which Chris thought looked far too cold for that time of year.

She smiled at him as she went to settle the books on the counter, saying, "Sorry, these were kind of heavy, and I didn't want to drop them." She motioned to the two stacks of thick books, and then cleared her throat, folded her fingers together properly, and asked the man, "How can I help you?"

Chris nodded with only half a smile due to his irritated state of mind, though he did notice that the subject of the books were all of medical topics oddly enough, but he just showed her his phone instead of asking while he explained, "My phone's not getting a signal, so I was hoping to use the one here, as well as sign out of the lodge. I figured I'd head back early so I could get a jump start packing." Not a complete lie, he considered briefly to himself.

When he mentioned that, the receptionist gave him a somewhat surprised look and asked him, "Oh, you didn't hear?"

Chris's brows furrowed over his brown eyes, and with a shake of his head, he asked in return, "Hear what?"

"Well, apparently there's been–," she suddenly stopped when she heard a thud and a groan coming from the back, looking toward the hallway to her right. Her countenance changed to one of worry, and she seemed to become extremely antsy, saying, "Sorry, one second. I have to check on someone."

She moved to the right to head down the hallway behind the counter swiftly, her heels clicking behind her as Chris said, "Wait," but she was already gone. With a groan, he looked over the top of the reception desk that rose to about his chest in height, and when he saw the phone, he grabbed it and tugged it up so he could use it whether she'd said he could or not.

Lifting the receiver, he looked for the line to call out on the device, and just as he pressed it and heard the dial tone, then entered the first three digits of the number he was calling, he stopped suddenly. The receptionist had just let a scream, and what's more, it'd been cut off early before it could draw out completely.

Chris set the phone back down and reached into his bomber jacket for his gun out of habit, but nothing was there. Realizing he didn't have his gun on him, he muttered out, "Shit," and then reached for the lid of the counter that flipped up to allow the employees behind it. Stepping behind the counter, he moved toward the hallway where she'd gone, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Ma'am?," he asked against his better judgement as he walked into the hall, heading to the corner where there was a water fountain settled on the wall, and a single turn that went to the left. It was where the bathrooms were located, but his mind was furthest from that topic at the moment. As soon as he got to that corner, he looked around it to see a sight he'd seen before, but hadn't in a long time.

The woman was laying on the floor in a pool of her own blood, her face a mask of the horror she'd died in, and settled near her, making that God awful chewing sound as it feasted on her flesh, was a zombie - the lodge manager Chris had seen several days before when he'd checked into the lodge. The older man's bushy hair was a dead giveaway, as well as the Pinedale Fishing Lodge logo on the back of his shirt.

Maybe now Chris knew what the medical books had been for. Apparently the guy hadn't been feeling very well and had probably come from his home on the other side of the parking lot to get the books and check his symptoms when he'd felt the need to go to the bathroom - but hadn't quite made it before he'd turned into a zombie.

"Son of a bitch," Chris got out lowly, stepping back, checking behind himself and realizing that if another zombie appeared at the other end of the short hallway where the reception desk was located, he'd be cornered between the both of them with no way out because the hallway had no windows. So instead of sticking around to watch what he'd already seen before, he took off back toward the reception desk was, and as he made it through the door, he flipped the counter lid up again and let it fall back into place carelessly.

Whatever had happened here, Chris wasn't sure, but he did know one thing - he was unarmed and if there was one zombie about, then there were probably more. Coming to a stop in the reception area, he had the brief thought that he didn't know the number to the local police department, so instead of worrying about that just then, he looked for whatever he could use as a weapon for now, and spotted a display case that carried a large hunting knife and several pocket knives inside of it.

Using his jacket covered elbow, he busted the glass open and grabbed the knife, just in time to notice movement from the corner of his eye. The manager had followed him from the back room, and Chris watched as the zombie leered at him with blood and drool hanging from his mouth while he grabbed the counter in order to climb over it in an attempt to get at the fresh meat standing there.

Chris didn't give the monster the time though. As it tried to lumber over the counter, he moved in and grabbed the back of the now undead man's head by the bushy hair he'd sported, and then jabbed the hunting knife he'd found with a hard thrust into his skull, using a good bit of force to do so. He let go of the man's head immediately, followed by tugging the knife back out as blood spilled onto the floor beneath the now dead corpse, hanging over the counter lifelessly now.

Taking in a deep breath and stepping back, Chris wondered how long it might be before the woman he'd just started eating a few moments beforehand got back up, and in the meantime, he reached for the phone and pressed the line to call out again. This time though, he dialed the operator.

When the woman on the other end picked up, Chris said, "I need the number to the local police station, and fast."

"I can connect you automatically," the lady responded, "please hold."

Chris just waited as the line began to ring again. And again. Five times and no pick up. Pinedale was a smaller town, only about fifteen thousand or so, but any police station in any town was open twenty four hours a day, so when no one picked up, that told Chris everything he needed to know. In anger, he slammed the phone back down, then looked down the hallway again to see if there was anymore movement out of the receptionist, followed by checking his back once more, before he went to dial his sister's number.

With any luck, he'd catch her this time and she'd be fine, but he honestly hoped he didn't find out what was going on from her. After all, that could've meant she was in danger too.


	3. Conspiracy

_A/N: Sorry for this author's note, but I wanted to apologize for the amount of time it took to get this chapter up. I had a medical emergency and I haven't been able to write much in the past few days. That said, here's the newest chapter, so I hope you enjoy! ^_^!_

_Chapter 2 - Conspiracy_

_3 Days Prior - November 16__th__, 2007_

_Private Jet flying over Southern California_

_12:15 AM_

The skies were completely clear that evening, and flying was smooth. The two flight attendants, Captain, and co-pilot were making their way without any hitches, carrying two passengers on board a private jet with them who were currently spending their time in silence. Their destination was Northern Africa, and though it would be a long trip - had already been one so far - it had all the luxuries that could possibly be provided on such a trip.

As was protocol, the Captain's voice sounded on the intercom from where he sat in the cockpit, announcing that they were now passing over southern California, the time being just past midnight, and other such status updates. One of the flight attendants, a woman in a white blouse and a knee length blue skirt, stopped next to a seat in the cabin and looked down at the passengers settled there, asking, "Do you need anything?"

A gloved hand was waved silently at the woman in negativity, who nodded with her polite smile in place and turned to walk on. As she left, the man seated in the first class chair lowered his hand again to fold with the other in a fist settled before his mouth.

His companion watched him, a businessman with black hair and a sleek Armani suit on. After a moment, he asked, "You're not actually worried, are you?"

Albert Wesker lifted his eyes behind his black shades, peering over at the man settled across from him diagonally, who'd just asked him that question, and perked a single brow. Lowering his hands from where they'd been settled before his mouth to place against each arm of his chair, he asked the businessman in return, "Am I giving off that impression?"

"Not really, but you haven't moved an inch since we took off really."

Wesker didn't respond to that right away, only glancing ahead again before he finally said, "I apologize if my lack of animation bothers you, Mr. Hinson, but it should stand to reason that if I'm unmoving, then I'm perfectly at ease."

Mr. Hinson gave a nod and adjusted his tie. He'd become a little anxious himself, but more so because of his fellow flight member's continued calm countenance making it extremely difficult to judge what the man might've been thinking than it had anything to do with their destination. Hinson had heard stories about this Albert Wesker, but he'd never thought he'd be traveling halfway across the world with him, much less handling some of his business affairs.

He was worried, he could say that much, but he'd do his job as had been set out to him. That was all that could be asked, right?

Wesker himself wasn't impressed with Hinson. He'd been sent in to handle a few things concerning Wesker's investments, and so far the man was as nervous as he was sneaky and backhanded. A weasel was the only word Wesker could really think of that fit him completely, no questions asked. But nevertheless, he was good at handling the affairs given to him, and Wesker was patient, so he wasn't worried about having to put up with any antics that might be bothersome for long.

Heading to Northern Africa now in order to handle some business dealings with a Pharmaceutical Corporation operating mostly in European and some African territories, Wesker had been considering those affairs for most of the evening. That was, when he hadn't been spying Hinson tugging at his collar like a nervous wreck. He was hiding it behind a cool visage, Wesker could give him that much, but Wesker could also see the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, a bit of dilation to his pupils, all indications that he was unsettled.

Wesker might've questioned it, but such was a typical response around him when it came to people who'd heard rumors, had gotten any sort of wind on the reputation that Wesker carried. He knew he made Hinson nervous, but that wasn't his problem. Actually, the thought amused Wesker as it usually did, but he stayed silent over it. If need be, he'd use that anxiety against Hinson, but for now there was no need.

Unless the man started chattering away annoyingly. Then maybe he'd threaten him idly. Hinson would take it as a real threat however and shut up.

After their brief exchange of words, more time lapsed between them in silence when Wesker heard the intercom coming on with an announcement from the Captain. He knew it had to have been something specific and perhaps important because the man had just updated them on the flight status at the turn of the hour, which was fifteen minutes ago. So Wesker paid attention to the words being spoken.

"This is Captain Woodward, we've just been contacted by Air Traffic Control and ordered to make an emergency landing at Cedar City Regional Airport, Utah, which we will be undergoing in the next ten minutes. Please fasten your safety belts as we initialize landing procedures."

Hinson looked up with furrowed brows, remarking, "That's strange. Why would Air Traffic Control order us to make a landing?"

There could've been a number of differing reasons for that, and Wesker wasn't about to explain any of them to Hinson. He was too preoccupied with figuring the riddle out for himself, wondering what it was that was grounding their flight, and if it had anything to do with the passengers on board, or himself more specifically.

At his silence, Hinson looked over at him and asked as if he'd been reading Wesker's thoughts, "You don't think someone's trying to. . .stop us, do you?"

Wesker glanced at the man from behind his shades, uncertain about that in all honesty. Thinking over just how and why someone would be targeting them for a landing in specific - outside of the obvious reasons - he noticed that Hinson had turned his eyes away from him by a degree - up just behind his seat - and his jaw had clenched. It was a telling sign that someone had just arrived behind Wesker's chair.

Wesker glanced to the side just in time to see movement, and his reflexes kicked in as he reached up and grasped a hand that had come down next to his throat - one which held an injection gun in now shaky fingers. Apparently, someone wanted Wesker injected with _something_, and they were incredibly sloppy in going about it. The realization didn't really stun Wesker as much as it did humor him - and irritate him a good bit.

The fact that Hinson hadn't responded to the attempted swipe the female flight attendant had just made at the blonde with any type of warning or surprise told Wesker that he was in on this sudden turn of events, and before the flight attendant could even move, Wesker grabbed the injection gun, stood quickly, and jabbed it into her throat. As he did this, the woman stared wide eyed, but not for long. He could see by the words labeled on the vial that had been loaded inside of the injection gun that it was a powerful sedative. Perhaps enough of a dosage to take down an elephant - and more than enough to kill the flight attendant he'd just injected it into.

Soon enough, her eyes fell shut and she slumped over completely.

Hinson had scrambled to his feet while Wesker did this, staring at the sight with wide eyes. "What's going on!" He exclaimed the words and looked back up at the black-clad man who'd just injected the woman with the contents of the gun she'd been holding.

Hinson was trying to act surprised now that she'd failed, which amused Wesker. Turning away from where she'd slumped over into his seat completely, he looked at Hinson and stated plainly, "Apparently I'm being stabbed in the back, as if you didn't know."

Hinson stared at Wesker, shaking his head slowly, and Wesker only nodded in return. "Come now. Don't play coy, Mr. Hinson, you didn't say more than a single word when she was about to inject me. Did you actually think I would be stupid enough not to notice?"

Hinson stared at the man for a moment, and then he reached into his blazer somewhat sloppily as Wesker watched him with a lifted brow and a curious, if not amused expression. Finally, Hinson tugged out a simple handgun, aiming it at the inhuman tyrant, and yelled, "Stay right there!"

"Hmph," Wesker scoffed, looking around at the inside of the cabin before he suggested to Hinson, "you do realize that firing could potentially rupture the hull, don't you?" Looking back over at the nervous man, he added in promise, "Then down we go."

Hinson's expression seemed to state that he realized that, but he never lowered his arm. "It'd be worth it," he insisted.

"Would it?," Wesker asked, still amused, and he was letting that amusement show freely. "I'm not sure it would, considering you've put so much effort into this that you've forgotten to turn your safety off."

Hinson's brows furrowed, and he glanced at his gun for a moment, then went to turn it off as quickly as possible when he saw that it was in fact still on. Wesker just smirked in his distraction and then moved in a blur of speed, heading straight toward the man. As he reached Hinson, he placed one hand on the man's wrist holding the gun, and the other on his throat, effectively keeping Hinson from firing at him, though the gun did go off - into a seat nearby thankfully.

Wesker had moved too quickly for Hinson to see him coming, so he'd been shocked as he was grabbed, and when Wesker's gloved fists closed around his wrist and throat, he jerked, but the hold was like iron. Wesker was still smirking at the man, his eyes glowing an amber shade behind his black shades, and even when he tried to send his fist into the blonde's exposed gut to get him to let go, Wesker only smirked at him. The result of hitting him had only been a harsh pain sent shooting through Hinson's wrist while Wesker shook his head.

"I'd tell you to save your strength, but if it's worth it, then by all means, hit me again."

Wesker had begun to squeeze the man's throat as he drew those words out casually, choking Hinson, when he heard the second flight attendant who'd been on board - a bigger man than himself - coming up behind him.

Without letting go of Hinson, Wesker turned his head back and then lifted his left leg and kicked it back into the attendant's gut as the man reached them, sending him flying across the cabin and into the far wall, successfully defending himself. Now that he had a free, uncompromised moment alone with Hinson, he turned his full attention back to businessman and said, "Now, where were we. Oh yes, you were just about to tell me _why_ we're landing now."

Wesker's grip had relaxed on Hinson's throat enough to allow him to breathe and to speak, but Hinson just shook his head, "I don't know why we're landing!"

"Is that so?," Wesker asked, unconvinced.

"I swear!," Hinson spit out quickly. "I have no idea why we're landing!"

It stood to reason that in his nervous anxiety, he would've spit it out, but there was one thing that Wesker _had_ noticed that was of use. The gun had gone off and neither the Captain or the Co-Pilot had come to see what was going on, which told Wesker he was on a jet full of people who'd either been paid to try to dispose of him, or who just didn't like him very much.

So he told Hinson, "If you don't know, then perhaps the Captain does. I should probably go have a word with him."

Before Hinson could respond, Wesker did what he had to and let go of Hinson's throat in order to punch him, which knocked the man out effectively. As Hinson slumped to the floor, the gun falling out of his fingers to land near him, Wesker kicked the weapon away, which went sliding beneath several seats lining the middle of the cabin, and pulled his own from inside of his black trench coat. After all, he had a rule about using guns that had safety features - he didn't use them.

His weapon in hand, he began to head to the cockpit.

The co-pilot noticed the door opening, and when he saw who was heading through it, he stood, saying, "Sir, you're going to have to take your seat, we're–,' but he was suddenly silenced. Wesker's eyes had begun to glow when the man approached him in order to lead him back to where he'd been sitting, and before more could be said or done, he lifted his hand and thrust it forward, into the co-pilot's chest. Blood spurted out of the opposing side as his fingers emerged there, splattering all over the controls as the pilot yelled in response and had turned to stand up, but found a gun shoved into his face, the cold barrel pressed against his cheek and nose.

Shoving the body of the co-pilot back into the seat, Wesker, holding the pilot at gunpoint now, told him, "We're not landing. Not until you answer a few of my questions."

"Y-you wouldn't shoot me. I'm flying."

His words didn't seem to have an effect on Wesker, who replied simply, "I've had worse situations to live through, and I myself know how to pilot, so keep that in mind," Wesker told the man plainly, his voice never raising. He used his gun to push a bit further into the pilot's face as if to direct him to sit back down behind the controls, which the man did so and turned to face the front window again, continuing to fly evenly as he'd been asked to.

As he did this, Wesker stated, "Tell me _why_ we're landing."

"Air control is demanding that we do! I swear. Listen for yourself!"

The Captain had motioned at his dead co-pilot's body, the headphones settled over his ears, and Wesker reached to grab the device and see for himself. Holding one of the speakers to his ear, he listened to what the Air Traffic Control Officer was reporting, and his brows narrowed. Apparently, all flights crossing over the United States, not including its outer territories, were being grounded until further notice by order of the Secretary of Defense of the United States.

So now he knew that he wasn't being brought down specifically, but the sudden attack on his person when this had begun happening got him curious.

"Then," Wesker started as he let the headphones fall to the floor, looking back at the Captain, "who's responsible for this attack?"

"I don't know, honestly!"

"But you _did_ know it was being planned."

"Yes, but who planned it, I have no idea. They only said there would be a sign of when to sedate you, an uncommon sign, but they didn't say anything besides that. The sudden demand to land told us that was the time to act."

Typical, someone trying to cover their tracks. Wesker knew that if the jet continued flying over the States, they'd be spotted and followed by Air Force craft and either forced to land, or blown out of the sky in this situation. So he really had no choice in that respect. But as for finding out what was going on _before_ they landed, and what he had to expect once they got there, that was a different story altogether.

The sedation they'd tried to put him under told him that there could be someone waiting below in order to collect him, but that didn't matter just then. Putting his weapon back in his coat, deciding that the Pilot was only useful for a smooth landing now, he simply told the man, "Then do whatever you must. I have other sources."

Wesker turned from the cockpit in order to head back into the cabin where he'd left Hinson, and as he was about to make it to the door, it suddenly slammed open, and the male flight attendant stood there, aiming the handgun that Wesker had kicked away from Hinson. There was a bit of blood trailing down his head from where he'd landed after Wesker had kicked him into the wall, which said he wasn't thinking clearly about this at all.

He pulled the trigger as the pilot tried to yell at him to put it down, and Wesker leaned back swiftly to allow the bullet to fly over him instead of taking it of course. Why put himself in that kind of jeopardy after all? Who knew if they had a second dose of the sedative handy incase the first attempt to inject him had failed?

As the bullet missed, flying straight over Wesker who had leaned back in order to doge it, it headed straight into the front windshield of the jet, shattering it open by a few inches - but that was all that was needed to allow the air pressure to do the rest.

The front wind shield shattered away, and the jet began to vibrate while the Captain tried to hold her steady, something he knew would be next to impossible. But he didn't even have time to consider it as a shard of glass from the window flew directly at him, the edge sharp, and embedding itself mercilessly into his chest, cleaving his heart. Unable to hold onto the controls any longer, the jet began to spin out of control and head straight for the ground.

As this happened, the attendant who'd shot at Wesker was tossed back into the cabin while Wesker grasped hold of a metal pole behind the co-pilot's chair to anchor himself into place. While the craft went spinning, he saw the bodies of both the Pilot and the co-pilot being thrown about and then out of the front window, and beyond that, the clouds cleared to show that land was coming up beneath them in the darkness - and it was coming up fairly fast.

The jet moved through the air, the lights inside of it flickering as it came out of the sky and went careening down, hitting the ground tail first in its spin. It blew chunks of dirt and rock up beneath it, sending them high skyward, the metal body of the jet scraping across the sloped surface of the ground it'd hit with loud screeches of metal, the entire cabin and cockpit going dark completely. In that darkness was nothing but chaos and the sounds of impact, more screeches of metal, and grinding that was loud enough to deafen.

And then it all just suddenly stopped.

Through the darkness that had suddenly grown so eerily quiet, sparks of light could be seen from wires that were now hanging out of the ceiling inside of the cabin, the chairs piled up on top of one another in the cabin, everything in shambles. Wesker found himself laying across the wall of the cockpit as the Jet - or what was left of it - was now settled onto its side, and he lifted his head up and then stopped when he felt a stabbing pain.

Looking to the side in the darkness, he noticed a metal rod sticking out of his shoulder, and he let a grunt as he pushed himself back onto his knees, followed by grasping the rod and giving it a good, hard jerk, pulling it free of his body completely. Dropping it without care, it made a loud metal clang against the floor while he grunted to push himself completely up onto his feet, noticing that his shades had landed in the back of the cabin without a scratch on them - able to see through the darkness with a good bit of clarity where a normal person would have had a bit of trouble.

Since the shades weren't damaged, he grabbed them and pushed them into his pocket for the moment, knowing he'd be able to see better in the darkness without them than with them for now. Following that movement, Wesker looked up at the door, which was now laying on its side above him, like the rest of the jet was laying on its right side, and he began to work his way through it by pulling himself up the side wall, ignoring the pain shooting through his arm in the process. After all, he'd mend soon enough.

As he managed to get back into what was left of the cabin, realizing the left side of the jet's body had been torn out completely which allowed Wesker to see the stars in the sky above through the smoke still wafting about from the crash landing, he glanced about inside of the cabin itself and noticed that there was only one body - or should he say, half a body. The bottom half of Hinson was laying tangled in the piled up chairs, and there was no telling where the other half had gotten off to.

Sighing, Wesker shook his head over the loss of a chance for more information, and then maneuvered through the wreckage to see what he might be able to find left over from what had been brought on board. After all, there might be a clue laying within all the rubble that he could use to figure out what the hell had just happened.

He did notice the time however from his wrist watch. He knew it had been about 12:20 when the jet had first started to crash, and it was now 12:45, which meant he'd been unconscious for at least twenty minutes. He didn't have time to lose. Air Traffic Control would have picked up on the crash from their monitoring stations, and so he'd have to get out of there as soon as possible.

Eventually, the ambulances did arrive at the scene, but Wesker was long gone by that time. In seeing that there were no survivors, the crews did what they could to send salvage teams out, and investigation parties, but they somehow seemed to be compromised, distracted - and with good reason. After all, about a hundred and seventy five miles southwest, in Northern Las Vegas, the city was in a state of pandemonium. Buildings were torn apart, fires were blazing, and smoke was rising from the heat of the massive explosion that had taken place not too long after the Jet Wesker had been flying on had crashed outside of Cedar City, Utah.

Emergency teams were sent in to contain the fires, save who they could, and house those who had lost homes and loved ones. But it didn't take long for the true motivation behind the missile attack to make itself known despite the efforts into saving those who had survived - survived not only an attack on Las Vegas, but one on Washington D.C., as well as Daytona Beach, Florida.

That motivation was shown through the survivors themselves, a motivation that had a US Government Agent worried that entire week, until he'd spotted one of the missiles flying over D.C. that same night Wesker's flight had crashed. Their eating habits changed.

Instead of normal food, they all began eating each other.


	4. Infection

_Chapter 3 - Infection_

_2 Days Later - November 18__th__, 2007_

_Rapid City, South Dakota_

_8:23 PM_

To say it was a night like any other was definitely a lie. Regan Davison had been watching the news about the attacks on three major US cities that happened just after midnight on November 16th, but information was coming in at a shaky pace, and something seemed to be wrong with the reception on the television. She wasn't receiving all the stations she normally had, and the news that she _was_ getting, well, it told her that things were going terribly wrong, but the extent of which it was going wrong was the part that was a bit sketchy.

Some were saying they were terrorist attacks - others were saying it was Armageddon.

It was bad enough to cause rioting and looting in many places however, which was why Regan had gone into her safe where she'd kept her weapons - a Remington Semi-Automatic rifle, and her Browning handheld. She wasn't sure if they would come in handy, but she'd be damned if she were robbed or attacked by someone who was crazy and claiming that the end of the world was here and be caught off guard by them.

Rapid City was falling victim to the things spreading about as well. On November 17th, the day after the bombing of three US Cities as well as other locations worldwide, things had progressively gotten worse during the day, people calling out of work, tales being told of Zombies roaming around major US cities, and the military at the local Air Base was being sent out to make sure quarantines were set up.

Regan Davison was a single mother living in the rural district of the city. A former member of the Army Reserve, she knew that if things were as severe as were being told, it wouldn't be long at all before the city was put under martial law. She kept her daughter with her and out of school that day in order to make sure things at home were settled the way they needed to be, calls coming in from her friends and neighbors, and from her daughter's foster parents, Clyde and Linda Harris, about what was happening in the world.

Regan spent a good hour talking to Clyde, telling him that she was packing everything and would bring Shannon to stay with him and his wife in Edgemont as soon as she was done because she felt it would be safer staying with him until this all blew over than it would be staying where she was currently. She'd just pack the things they needed and get a move on it.

On November 18th, however, things took a turn for the worse.

It was getting late in the evening when Regan had finished packing the cars. Her daughter, Shannon, was sitting on the kitchen table, looking extremely worried as her mother was making sure they were ready to go. She was almost done with the packing, only had a few more things here and there to put into the truck of her car, while Shannon watched her mother making sure she wasn't forgetting anything specifically important.

As Regan passed her, the little girl, who's hair was the color of a blood red tied into pigtails, cast her green eyes up and asked, "Mama, you really think people are turning into monsters?"

Shannon was eight years old, so she was old enough to understand things, but not quite old enough yet to always be able to distinguish fantasy from reality on her own. Regan had shut the closet door after grabbing Shannon's jacket when the child had asked that and she walked over to her, motioning for Shannon to lift her arms. She gave the child a sympathetic gaze as Shannon's arms raised so that Regan could put her jacket on her, and said in reply, "Honestly, I don't know. I wish I could say no, they're not, Squirt, but I just couldn't tell you without lying about it."

Shannon knew her mother would tell her the truth if she could, and she nodded her head, asking in addition, "If they are, will the monsters come after us?"

Pursing her lips, Regan considered her response before she said with as much of a smile as she could muster, "Well, I do know that if they do, I'll kick their butts."

Shannon smiled back at her mother over that promise, and that was the face that Regan wanted to see, not that of a worried child over the state the world had been heading into. Regan and Shannon had both heard about potential outbreaks such as had occurred in Raccoon City a little over ten years ago now, and Regan in specific knew if that were true, then things were really going to get bad very soon now. She'd read a lot of information concerning Raccoon City before, and knew that things there had been utter hell on Earth before the place had been destroyed in order to stop the infection.

She'd remembered reading the testimony of a private blog on the internet as well, operated under a user with the screen name of LetmeLive79 who'd claimed to be a survivor, which had been about the nightmares seen in the city when the outbreaks had occurred. A lot of people had put blogs up, said what they'd seen even though they'd never been there, but this one had stood out in particular.

The writer was angry that anyone would ever want to try to pretend they'd been through something like that, and spent several paragraphs explaining how they should have been ashamed of themselves. As for the descriptions of the inner city, well, Regan got the feeling that this LetmeLive79 wasn't just trying to get attention.

Now finished with zipping up Shannon's coat and getting her mind back onto the present, Regan told her daughter, "Alright, go to your room, get the bag I told you to pack and double check to make sure you haven't forgotten anything, and we'll be heading out to Clyde and Linda's for now. Got it?"

"Roger, Mama!," Shannon nodded, having heard the word 'Roger' being stated in various movies before, and since her mother used to be in the Army Reserve, well, she knew what the term meant. The little girl climbed down and off of the kitchen table in order to go into the bedroom, but she stopped when she heard someone knocking on the door rather frantically.

"Regan, are you home! It's Tom, I need some help!"

Regan's brows narrowed and she looked at Shannon, saying, "Go on, go get your bags, I'll see what Tom wants."

Shannon looked hesitant, but she ran off to do her mother's bidding. Inside of her bedroom, she briefly jiggled the knob of her door which had been broken for about a week now, and she rolled her eyes. She guessed it didn't matter anymore though because they were leaving for now anyway, and she grabbed her backpack and dumped her school books out of it and onto her bed. As she did this, she heard her mother in the living room around the corner, asking, "Tom, what's wrong?"

"People are going crazy," the middle aged man stated plainly, though with a good bit of anger. "My daughter has a busted forehead, someone knocked her over outside on the sidewalk. I was trying to call anyone I could find for a ride to the hospital but my phone died, so I need to use someone else's. She's going to be okay I'm sure, but I don't want to risk anything."

"Sure," Regan nodded in understanding, "come on, it's no trouble."

Regan had a cell phone herself, but it'd gone missing a few days beforehand and she was waiting on the replacement. Good timing for it, she'd decided with a roll of her eyes. As Tom went into the kitchen, she said, "I'll be back, Shannon and I are heading to Edgemont for a while to stay with her foster parents. I'm trying to get the car packed."

"Alright, I'll be in and out quick," Tom promised, and Regan went to the front door and stepped outside. Tom was a slightly older man, in his mid forties, who wore a pair of glasses and had a balding head, with a fairly skinny frame. He was an accountant as well as a tutor at the local elementary schools, and he'd known Regan and Shannon since they'd moved into the house three years prior, had helped tutor Shannon in math on several occasions. Regan trusted the man, and Shannon liked him, so she knew if he said he wasn't going to be long, then he wasn't.

After Regan had left, Tom went over to the phone, letting short cough, then wiped his head with the back of his hand where he'd been sweating while he reached for the phone with the other. As he lifted it up from the receiver, he noticed a few splotches on his skin. Tom narrowed his brows and inspected the splotches a bit more closely, his vision going a bit blurry as he tried to focus on them.

He felt somewhat faint, sick, but he'd been so worried about how his daughter's head was busted open that he hadn't worried much about his own health at all.

Shannon could hear him coughing from her bedroom as she left it, and she stepped out into the kitchen while tugging the straps of her backpack over her shoulders. "Mr. Winfred, are you okay?," she asked, "Need some water?"

"No...," he drew out, shaking his head, the word a bit rasped.

"You sure? You don't look so hot," Shannon informed him in a somewhat grown up fashion. "I can give ya a whole bottle, Mama just bought a pack."

Shannon went over to the fridge and opened the door, fishing for the six pack and tugging a bottle off of it when she found it. Once she was done, she turned around and looked up, holding the bottle of water out to the man. She noticed as she turned around that the phone had slipped out of his hand though, and she narrowed her brows, letting her arm fall back to her side. Tom had stood up straight slowly, and Shannon asked quietly, though a sense of foreboding had come over her childlike senses, "Mr. Winfred?"

She watched him turning to face her, his eyes a murky white color now, his skin a sickly tone, and he'd left his mouth hanging open long enough that a line of drool had fallen from his lips. Shannon was struck with fright when she saw it, frozen in place, panting, thinking about what she'd heard about people turning into monsters because they were getting sick, and alarms were going off in her head now.

Her paralyzation from fear wore off however when Tom started moving toward her, lifting his arms up with a low groan.

That was when Shannon let a loud scream, then lifted her arm and chucked the bottle of water right at the man's head as he was about to reach her, which did in fact hit him dead on, knocking the glasses he'd been wearing off of his face. He let a grunt and stumbled back a little, while Shannon moved toward her room, screaming the entire way.

Tom, now a zombie with no thought save to consume whatever he could find, moved away from the wall and toward the door she'd taken. She'd shut the door behind her, but because the knob was broken, all Tom had to do was push against it in order to get inside.

Shannon was now cornered with no way out.

Outside, Regan had just shut the trunk of the car when she'd noticed one of her neighbors across the street, a man named Nate, falling off of his front porch. Her brows narrowed at the sight, the only sound at that moment in time aside from the distant wails of sirens, being the barking of the dog in Tom's backyard. Tom's dog was the only one in the neighborhood, but Regan couldn't remember it ever going on like it was now.

Something was definitely amiss, she could feel it in her bones.

"Nate? You okay over there?"

As she watched, her neighbor across the street stood back up and didn't say a word, just began ambling as if nothing had happened, turning slowly to face her when she'd called out to him. Regan's brows furrowed as the man began to make his way across his lawn in her direction, walking completely uncharacteristically, and Regan knew as soon as she saw it that the reports had been right, and when she had the thought, her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach.

Another outbreak like in Raccoon City. But...how had it gotten there? In Rapid City, South Dakota? The areas that had been attacked were miles away, the closest being Las Vegas, Nevada. So Regan found herself a bit confused about it, but if she was right, and he was infected with that virus made by the Umbrella Corporation she'd heard about, then all she needed to know was where the closest weapon was.

The man was still coming toward her, and Regan stepped back, then turned to the back door of her Hyundai I20 station wagon, flinging it open to reach inside, down to the floor board where she moved a tarp out of the way so she could grab her tire iron. She had a gun, but she'd packed it away into the car just now, and had no time to go and grab it. Nate was getting closer, she could hear him letting a low ground, and she found the iron and stood up when he'd gotten about ten feet away from her, holding the long metal shaft like a baseball bat.

"Stop!," she yelled at him, because she was uncertain, wasn't sure if he was actually infected or if her mind was playing paranoid tricks on her. So if he listened, then maybe she was wrong - she prayed she was wrong. Though seeing him now and how sickly he looked didn't help to sway her opinion any. "Nate, I swear to god I'll swing this!"

Nate wasn't stopping. The closer he got, the easier she could see his eyes and face weren't normal, and she knew for a fact that he was one of those..._things_ the people who contracted the virus became. She had her moral dilemmas with this, didn't want to hit this man she knew - he'd been her friend for about a year now - but something suddenly changed her mind.

She heard Shannon screaming.

The sound of her daughter in danger was all it took to get her survival instinct to kick in over any morals she might've had. With a gasp of breath, remembering she'd left Tom in the house with her daughter, realizing that Tom could've been infected too, she swung the tire iron as hard as she could. The metal rod came around and hit the zombie right across the side of his cranium hard enough to make a sickening crunch of sound, knocking him over completely in the process.

Taking several deep breaths as she stepped back from the fallen man, seeing that Nate was down on the ground now, she turned and ran inside of the house to hear Shannon screaming a second time.

"Shannon!," she yelled loudly, running to her room, ignoring the phone laying on the floor now that was beeping a loud dial tone out now.

She tore around the corner and into her daughter's room, and what she saw horrified her. Tom was on the floor, going beneath the bed, and Regan had no idea if her daughter was safe or not when she heard the screams the eight year old was letting from beneath the same piece of furniture.

Without wasting a single moment for anything, Regan moved in and grabbed Tom's legs, dragging him back and away from the bed with all of her might, the adrenaline pumping through her body making her stronger than normal. Once she was done, she dropped his limbs and looked up to see him turning to face her, letting a low moan as he went to reach out to grab her. Yelling loudly in a fit of rage over what might have just happened, Regan took the tire iron and swung it again, cussing him the entire time.

"Don't you _dare_ touch her, goddamn it!"

Regan didn't swing once this time, but twice, crushing his skull completely as she drew the metal down and into the zombie's head the second time. When the body went still, she let the iron clunk down onto the floor, and then raced to Shannon's bed.

"Shannon! Shannon, oh my God, are you–," she stopped speaking as she knelt down and saw Shannon poking her head out, reaching without a word to grab her daughter and tug her up into her arms.

Shannon was sobbing quietly, too scared to say anything, and Regan had to take a moment to get her wits back about her. When she did so, she realized Shannon could be hurt and not saying anything about it, so she lifted the little girl back and demanded, "Are you okay!" Without waiting for an answer, she started checking Shannon out to make sure her little girl was completely fine.

Shannon had nodded to her mother's question positively, as she was fine, had just crawled under the bed to try to keep Tom away from her, but he'd kept coming, reaching out for her when he couldn't fit beneath the bed's low surface while she kicked away at his hands. But when Shannon saw the body laying there after her mother had begun to inspect her, Tom's body, she let another scream and grabbed her mother again to hide against her.

Regan knew why she'd done that, cussing herself inwardly for not dragging Shannon from the room before she could look up to see what had happened. But instead of blaming herself for now, she lifted her daughter up and told her, "Come on, let's get going, right now."

Shannon didn't argue of course, only let her mother lift her, and Regan stopped long enough to grab the tire iron - just incase - on the way to the door of her home.

She stopped moving in the kitchen though, wide eyed as she stared through the screen of the front door. Nate was on the other side of it, lifting his arms to beat against it while groaning into the house at them, and Regan knew she just had to get through so that she could get to her car and drive them the hell out of there. But she'd just hit him! It showed with the ear he had hanging off the side of his head, but he'd still gotten back up!

As Regan stood there taking in her breaths deeply, she pushed those thoughts out of her head for now and told Shannon, "Keep your head down until I get you into the car, okay?"

"Okay," Shannon whispered back.

"Okay," Regan repeated, then she braced herself and pushed forward to run toward the door, lifting her leg as she reached it to kick the door open as hard as she could. The zombie went stumbling backwards, falling to the side and onto the porch, buying Regan a good bit of time to get through the now open door and out to the car.

She pulled the passenger's side door open and told Shannon, "Get your seat belt on," as she settled the child down and shut the door again, then the back door where she'd left it open in order to grab the tire iron. Once she'd done that, she ran around to the driver's side of the car, and opened the door as quickly as possible.

She'd tugged her keys out on the way there, and even though she hadn't seen anyone else around, she wasn't going to stop or lose any speed, not when her daughter's life was at stake. Regan turned the engine of the car over and then put her in reverse, backing from the driveway without using the break at all, turning onto the road swiftly.

Shannon held on until the car came to a stop, and when Regan saw clear roads ahead of them, she put the car into drive and began to take off again.

Heading down the road, Regan began to calm herself down, taking in slow breaths, thinking that she needed to keep cool in order to get through this. For all she knew, those two were the only ones infected, but even that couldn't be possible, could it? After all, _someone_ had to have infected them, and Regan could only wonder how long ago it might've happened that they'd contracted this virus.

But she glanced over at her daughter, more concerned with Shannon's well being, and asked, "Sweety, are you okay?"

Shannon looked scared out of her wits, turning wide green eyes up at her mother as she was asked the question. When Regan saw the look, glancing back at the road and making a turn, she added, "Talk to me, Shannon, are you okay?"

"Mama," Shannon whispered on a shaky voice, "he turned into a monster."

Regan wanted to cry over the distraught quality of her daughter's tone. But instead of giving into that urge, she forced herself to look as strong as possible for her, and only nodded her head with the reply, "I know, honey. He did."

"I'm scared."

"Me too," Regan admitted, then reached over, taking her little girl's hand and squeezing it tightly. "But we'll be alright. I promise. We'll get to Clyde and Linda's, and we'll be perfectly fine."

Shannon squeezed Regan's hand back, then looked up at her mother. After a moment, she said, "I know, I believe you. You kicked the monster's butt like you said you would."

Finally, Regan felt a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth while she turned down another block, which was about a street away from the downtown section of the city. "If they threaten _you_, Shannon, I'd kick _anyone's_ butt."

Shannon smiled back at her, still holding her mother's hand, and she looked up to see the Main Street sign that led into town, and heard a few cars honking their horns coming from beyond it. Then she jolted forward a bit when Regan suddenly came to a stop before she could turn down onto that road.

They both stared out the windows, seeing cars lining the sides of the streets, some still swerving to miss others that were stationary, the people in a panic. The sirens they'd heard earlier were much louder now, and Regan knew, looking that way, that she would have to go the long way around in order to get out of Rapid City. There was no way she was going to drag herself or her daughter through that.

"Mama?"

"We'll go another way," Regan told Shannon, "let's go–"

"No, just go now! Go, go!"

Regan looked at Shannon when she'd yelled those words, seeing that her head was facing back just a bit, and so Regan immediately looked in that direction. A man was heading toward their car, and half of the skin on his face was missing. To top it off, there were two more people swaying behind him, turning slowly, and someone else was pushing their way through an open window of a crashed car down the road, blood staining their clothing.

The first zombie they'd seen was the closest and heading straight for them, and Regan faced ahead again, spotting the red light as Shannon yelled for her to drive. She knew this was a moment she'd have to keep a cool head. If she sped off, she could be hit and risk herself and her daughter, and she knew the people coming for them now wouldn't be able to stop her once she _did_ drive off.

Even as Shannon screamed when the zombie behind them made it to the back of the car, Regan gripped the steering wheel tightly to steady herself, and a car passed in front of them swiftly even though Regan's light had just turned green. That was when she punched the gas pedal so hard that the tires shrieked across the pavement, leaving black skid marks as they went. She drove off, leaving the zombies wandering up behind them in the dust, and got the hell out of there as fast as she could. Had she gone right off the bat, the car that had suddenly sped around the corner and through the green light would have hit them, she Regan knew for certain that tearing around like a lunatic was _not_ going to help _anyone_.

She only hoped they could make it to Edgemont without any trouble. After all, Edgemont was a small town, so whatever was plaguing the rest of the world, hopefully it hadn't reached there just yet.


	5. Meltdown

_Chapter 4 - Meltdown_

_2 Weeks Later - November 29__th__, 2007_

_Outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming_

_7:39 AM_

Snoring could vaguely be heard inside of the hummer, coming from the backseat. It was light, and as it continued on while the sun rose, Dutch lifted his head and looked up at the man who was making the sound. Chris was laying back against the door beneath the window's level, his head against a bunched up jacket he had been using as a pillow, face a bit shaggy from a lack of shaving, a white t-shirt on with a pair of jeans and work boots, and a gun harness was strapped over his chest with a fully loaded handgun settled in it. He also had a shotgun resting in the floorboard of the hummer settled upward against the back of the front seat to be reached easily.

As daylight drew on more and more over the rural area where the hummer hitched to the RV was parked on the side of the road, the German Shepard named Dutch eventually let a bark at the snoozing man, which got his attention, and he lifted his head quickly, hand going to the gun he had strapped to his chest, peering over at the dog a bit bleary eyed. "What?"

Seeing the German Shepard - Husky mix staring at him and lifting a single ear, Chris snorted in a little amusement and let go of his weapon, knowing that if there were danger nearby, the dog would've given him a more urgent sign than a flicked up ear, his head falling back against his jacket again.

"You're better than an alarm clock at least. You don't keep going off until I hit the snooze button."

Dutch let another low woof when he said that, and Chris stiffened in a bit of a stretch, saying, "Yeah, yeah, I know, it's daylight again. Time to move. Let a guy get awake alright?"

It'd been almost two weeks since the world had gone to hell. Chris had been in Pinedale, Wyoming when it had all started, first realizing something was wrong when he'd gone to the manager's lodge of the resort he'd been vacationing at. It was there that he'd learned that zombies had made a comeback apparently. It wasn't just in Pinedale either - it was all over the place.

Chris hadn't been able to contact anyone from the BSAA, the lines either jammed, or the phones were having trouble getting signals to go through, he wasn't sure which - at least, at first he wasn't. By now though, he was sure that differing towers all over the country relaying signals were down when he'd realized that three major cities in the US had been attacked, and radio reports told him that more cities had also experienced similar fates throughout the world.

A few days on vacation, and _this_ was what happened. Looked like the world _did_ need him to put up a constant fight after all - that was what he was going to say to his superiors, _if_ he ever saw them again. But his first instinct, after he'd left Pinedale that was, had been to head to Denver, Colorado, take the highway south and make his way to his Uncle's home.

Chris's Uncle, George Redfield, was a General for the US Army, and he'd be the surest bet Chris had at getting anything done since Chris couldn't contact anyone who mattered - not even his sister.

He'd been damned worried about her as well. Claire wasn't in any of the victimized cities when the missiles had been launched, but that didn't mean she'd been out of the woods. After all, he hadn't been in any of those cities either, and apparently he was _still_ up shit creek and looking for his paddle.

Chris's plans had changed after a few days on the road however. He'd left Pinedale when he realized that there was nothing he could do for the city, that things _everywhere_ were going to hell, and the radio reports he'd been getting, which had all seemed to go off the air completely after about five days of traveling on the road, were saying that people should avoid major cities if possible. Anyone trying to make it to a safe haven were to head to a list of places given, and the closest one to Chris's position - and to Denver - was Dallas, Texas. The report had told that blockades were set up, that the city had managed to be quarantined, and there was a haven there for people seeking shelter from the disease spreading throughout the globe now.

It was a damned long stretch from Wyoming to Texas, but Chris _knew_ his Uncle would have taken his Aunt Tracy and headed there if that was the closest safe place while the military was trying to sterilize other zones. So that was where he'd changed his mind to go to. He'd considered locating the nearest air base on his GPS, but the problem was that several military bases didn't have listings on maps as a matter of classified information, and while Chris had GPS mapping on his phone issued by the government, it needed a signal in order to display that information from their networks.

A signal was what he _didn't_ have, and he knew it would be too dangerous to risk guessing and going to just look for a location that he wasn't a hundred percent positive of the location of, especially without prior knowledge of if any of the facilities had contracted the infection. So for now, he was heading to Dallas, and that was that. If he managed to come across a helicopter or some other type of craft on the way that had the proper amount of fuel, he'd start her up and really travel. But for the moment, he was going by land.

Knowing he needed to get his day started, Chris lifted his head slowly until he could see over the door and through the window, and looked outside at the greenery surrounding him in the quiet, rustic area he'd chosen to spend the night in. He saw nothing standing about, and looked back to witness nothing in front of his car either. Once he realized the coast was clear, he sat up straight and rubbed his somewhat bleary eyes.

He'd taken to stopping during the night because it was harder to see, and if he happened to run into something - or a lot of some-things - he didn't want to get stopped, potentially lose his ride, and then really be fucked.

"Dutch, up," he muttered out, and the dog lifted its front paws and then leapt up into the front seat. Dutch had been well trained, and Chris was glad for that, also glad for the company. He knew he could make this trek alone, but he really didn't want to - after all, who would?

Clearing his throat, he tugged out a pack of cigarettes that he'd looted from a gas station two days beforehand, deciding that if it were the zombie apocalypse, he'd rather die at his own hands than be eaten alive, he lit up. Besides, he'd quit a million times in the last year alone, so he didn't think starting up once again was going to kill him any time sooner. Once he'd light the cigarette with his zippo, he crushed the now empty pack and tossed it into the floorboard of the hummer carelessly, rolling his eyes when he realized this was his last smoke for now.

Not in the brightest of moods, he glanced his brown eyes up at Dutch and muttered out, "I gotta piss, how about you?"

Dutch let a yelp, so Chris nodded and decided to get that taken care of, grabbing the gun he'd slept with in the harness strapped around his chest for easy access. Once in his hand, he checked the chamber while he held his cigarette clutched between his lips, then grabbed the door handle. "Let's go then."

Heading outside, putting his gun back in the harness on his chest after making sure he'd reloaded it properly before trying to get a little shuteye, Chris took care of his business and watched as Dutch sniffed around to find a place of his own. He let the dog do that despite the fact that sometimes Dutch wandered just a bit. After all, if the dog could sniff something out that was bad, then it could save their asses.

Once they were through, Chris climbed back into the hummer and settled himself behind the wheel, rubbing his eyes and plucking his cigarette from between his lips, then he started the vehicle. Like always, he checked the radio to see if some kind of progress had been made in the civilized world to get the stations to come through, but he only picked up static, so he cut the damned thing off. He wished he had a normal AM/FM radio, but the hummer was only equipped with satellite, and so was the RV. Though he doubted he was in range for any stations to be picked up to begin with.

With a shake of his head, Chris rolled his window down about a third of the way, and put the car in gear.

Dutch's window was also down just a bit, the dog spending a good amount of time with his head hanging partly outside in the wind as they went. The sun was pretty bright that day in the clear sky, and after about an hour of traveling, Chris reached down to the cup holders, feeling about until he discovered the hiding spot of his sunglasses and pulled them up, putting them over his eyes because of the bright morning light.

At least it was a sunny day, he figured. Cold, but he didn't have to worry about any vision trouble like a dreary sky might've brought - or a storm that came along with it.

Time for breakfast, he thought after he'd managed to grab his shades, and he reached into a bag he had settled on the seat between himself and to pull out a strip of beef jerky - also looted from a gas station a few days ago. Lifting the strip to his teeth, he tore the plastic open and then ripped the thing in half.

"Dutch," he said, and when the dog looked over, he tossed the food at him, watching as Dutch opened his maul and caught it in his mouth, snapping his fangs down a few times to chew it up as Chris smirked at him.

That seemed to get the dog's complete attention, and he turned around, settling down on all fours properly in order to impress Chris, who just glanced at him through his shades and asked, "What? I gave you half, we've gotta ration this stuff."

Dutch let out a low groan and laid his head down, peering up at Chris through those sorrowful eyes. Oddly enough, the groan he'd made didn't sound any different from the one Chris's stomach suddenly let out. Chris sighed, knowing rationing fucking jerky wasn't going to go anywhere, not between the two of them.

"Fine, here," he said, holding the whole strip of jerky out to let the dog eat all of it, going to pull out an entirely different one for himself once Dutch had taken it.

It was times like these when Chris was safe, fine, traveling down the road, completely normal. Life could've been mistaken for dull and uneventful at that moment, as normal as he almost felt it was ever going to get again. Things were uncertain, and he couldn't live on tomorrow, couldn't live on 'when I get to Dallas', only had now and whatever it brought to him, sitting there with Dutch, feeding him - and himself - strips of beef jerky.

But it wasn't normal at all, _that_ was the strange part of his life in this world that was looking to end now. No, normal was Chris running from zombies when he had to stop in order to refill his gas canisters, to try to find food, or do anything that required him climbing out of his hummer for a substantial amount of time. Normal was making sure you had a weapon handy when you went to use the bathroom, or tried to get any sleep, eating while driving, and never, ever judging a book by its cover. If a place looked empty, it likely had the most zombies of all.

Heading down the road, he'd noticed he had a quarter of a tank left, and only one out of three full fuel cans were settled in the back of his hummer. So he decided that whenever he'd come across a street side gas station, he'd pulled his hummer to a stop, just outside of it, and case it for any movement before he ever attempted to climb out of the car. If something moved, he would assess the risk level of the situation - would it be worth it to try to get the fuel he needed?

Today, about an hour after he'd realized he would need more gas soon, Chris came across a gas station that led into another of the many small towns and cities scattered throughout the region of the country he was in - a BP in particular - which he never liked going to in the real world because the prices were always too high. But now, he stopped and had a look at the close to ten cars parked and abandoned around the area, some of them crashed, others just abandoned.

Might not be that much gas left with so many cars about, though he could always cipher from their fuel tanks to boot, but that would take a lot longer. Still, he'd watched the place for about five minutes, checking the cars and the store from what he could see, and when he saw no movement, he decided to go in to get what he needed. Climbing out of his car, he said, "Stay, Dutch," and shut the door, heading to the back of the hummer to grab his canisters.

He checked the pumps, keeping his head up in order to look around the entire time, thinking that this bullshit made the Spencer Estate in Arklay look like a fucking playground. Shaking his head when he had the thought, he pulled the pump from the cannister and screwed the top back onto it before lifting it to be carried back to his hummer. Apparently this gas station had a good bit of fuel supply left, enough to give him three full cans, _and_ a full tank of gas. That was like winning the fucking lottery.

The time spent getting his fuel refilled hadn't given way to any kind of threat present either, so he looked over at the store after he'd finished putting his gas canisters back up, and then glanced at Dutch through the opened window of his hummer.

"You're not sniffing anything bad from the looks of it. Think it's worth it?"

Dutch barked at him, followed by panting with one of those big, doggie smiles on his face. So Chris nodded, then turned and reached in to grab his shotgun and a duffle bag he could use to put whatever he found inside of to carry out more easily. "Alright, sit here, I'll be right back with something a little better than jerky...I hope."

Turning, finger over the trigger, Chris leaned the shotgun over his shoulder while slipping his arm through the harness attached to it and began to head toward the store, shades still covering his eyes from the midday sun while keeping his them open, wind blowing over his mussed brown hair. Had this been a movie, and had there been people around, he would've been arrested immediately, some big, muscular guy walking into a BP gas station with a shotgun, handgun, and a knife strapped to his chest over a white t-shirt.

But sadly, even shopping took the effort of being properly armed anymore, and _not_ with a credit card.

He just hoped the store hadn't been completely cleaned out, but at the least, he might be able to pick up another pack of smokes. Something to do while he drove.

Chris headed through the door quietly, avoiding stepping on the broken glass that had come from the shattered window in the door frame as much as he could just to keep quiet, inspecting the inside of the store with complete focus while tugging his handgun out to hold in the opposite hand that his shotgun was in.

No sound - not always a good thing.

It was in cases like this that security mirrors perched on the walls in stores came in extremely handy. While he checked them out, he noticed there was nothing in spots he couldn't see from his vantage point, including behind the register - which had been cleaned out of all money, the drawer still wide open. Chris shook his head. Money wasn't going to make you look any less tasty to a zombie, and it sure as hell wasn't going to save your life.

Shelves had been wrecked, freezer doors left open to allow whatever people _hadn't_ taken to thaw out and begin to go bad faster, and Chris even noticed that there weren't any smokes stocked - someone had cleaned _those_ out too. He snorted, heading toward the isles to see what _hadn't_ been taken.

"Rice cakes," he muttered out when he saw a set of bags of the bland foods. With a sigh, he didn't even waste his time, knowing he'd probably starve faster on those things than he would without them. But he _did_ find a box of combos on the bottom shelf of one isle - pizza flavored - and he grinned, wondering how well Dutch might take to those. Reaching down, he lifted the box up dumped it into his duffle before moving on to the next isle.

Messes were everywhere. Blood too, Chris noticed when he looked down the next isle to see a pool of it splattered across the floor, along with someone's arm and hand laying in it. The morbidly disgusting sight made Chris question if he wanted to continue looking at all, but his tuned senses began to trip up, and caught his attention.

He heard a creak of sound and he turned around to the direction it'd come from behind him and aimed his handgun. Staring ahead, he saw a door to the manager's office that was cracked open, and for all he knew, it could've had loose screws and been wavering a bit, but he didn't count on it. He glanced back once to cover his bases, make sure nothing was sneaking up behind him while he was watching the door for movement, and then ahead again, keeping a firm grip on his weapon.

Suddenly, a soda can rolled out from behind the door, telling Chris _something_ was in there, so he decided he should probably cut his trip short. Moving to the side slowly, keeping his aim on the manager's door while he looked left and worked his way in that direction, he noticed a hand coming around to grasp the side of the wooden plank, the fingers old and decayed, a sight that could've had most people pissing themselves with fear, but Chris had seen so damned much already that he remained unaffected by it.

A woman pushed her way out, her black hair missing in several places, the bottom half of her jaw rotting away - though she still had plenty of teeth - and Chris watched her turning toward him, start to stumble his way with a low, loud moan wailed out.

He would've shot right off of the bat, but he heard a crash, and he looked to his right, toward the back of the store to see the stock room door coming open as well. Three zombies were heading out of it now, apparently drawn by the sound the female zombie approaching him now had made, and so Chris looked back at the woman and he pulled the trigger, blowing a hole through her undead brain.

Following that, he turned and hightailed it out of the door, only to hear Dutch barking in warning. Chris looked to his right as he moved to see another couple of zombies heading his way through the parking lot, and when he spotted swift movement through the window of the store in the corner of his vision, he knew one of them had become a Crimson Head.

"Fuck!," he cussed, taking off as swiftly as he could, putting his handgun up in order to take his shotgun out - just incase. Crimson Heads were faster and stronger, and he wasn't taking any risks with them.

As he made it to the hummer, he pulled the door open and turned, aiming back at the zombie who was hot on his trail, moving toward him swiftly with blood red skin and gleaming eyes, sharp claws on each finger. Chris pulled the trigger as it was about to reach him, blowing the legs out from under it while the others slowly ambled after him, much farther behind than the one he'd just taken down had been.

The Crimson Head fell over, pushing itself up onto its arms to try to crawl toward Chris while he loaded himself into his hummer and shut the door, starting her up. He didn't waste a second shot on the head of the monster - knowing he wouldn't be coming back to this place again - and just started driving away with all haste.

Hell, aside from missing a shot in his handgun and his shotgun, he'd come out of that one with three cans of fuel and a box of pizza flavored Combo bags. He wasn't completely sure it was worth it, but at least he had something to show for it. Something to show for it, he thought, a box of combo bags and some gas was something to show for it.

Breathing somewhat heavily from the adrenaline rush, Chris tried to clear his thoughts as he headed on down the highway, tried to get his focus back to keep the drive smooth incase something popped up, but after ten minutes of thinking, his state of being hadn't calmed any. The state of the world, the outbreak despite all their _fucking_ efforts to keep it from happening. A probable six digit number or more of people dead, and there wasn't a single goddamned thing he could do about it just then except to raid a gas station for cans of gas and a _fucking_ box of Combo bags.

Oh they were pizza flavored - fucking yummy.

Albert Wesker. He _had_ to be behind this. Who the fuck else could organize something like this and pull it off without anyone's notice beforehand, without any kind of warning it was coming to be able to stop it. Who the hell else would be heartless enough to do this to the world and not give two shits about it.

Chris came to a screeching halt in the hummer and gripped the wheel tightly in his hands. As he did this, he suddenly started hitting the wheel with his fist while cussing, "Fuck! Goddamned son of a bitch! Why! Motherfucking..._**SHIT**_!"

He grabbed the wheel then and flexed his arms as hard as he could, tightening his grip around the handles until he thought he'd explode, as if he might've been able to rip the goddamned wheel from the dashboard, hearing it creak under his strength before he stopped finally. Dutch sat in the corner, his ears folded back completely, watching as Chris had a temporary meltdown of anger over the entire situation.

After a few moments of silence, and Chris got his breathing evened out, Dutch let a grunt at him. The sound made Chris look up, through the front windshield of his car, and down the road ahead of him.

He didn't know what he wanted now. To live long enough to see Wesker pay, to live long enough to just have a normal life again, or did he just want to stay right where he was and do absolutely nothing - which he felt like his whole damned life devoted to stopping bio-terrorism had been worth now?

Letting his eyes close, and his lips part as if he knew right off of the bat that his last thought just hadn't been an option, he muttered the word, "Shit," to himself and reached up to the gear shift. Folding his fingers around it, he tugged it down and put her in drive. Might as well keep on truckin', he decided, pushing his foot into the gas, driving back down the road again. Worth a damn or not, he was going to keep trying until he got _something_ done, or until he was dead.

He didn't have anything left to lose anyway.


	6. Patience

_Chapter 5 - Patience_

_November 30__th__, 2007_

_Outside of Grand Junction, Colorado_

_5:29 PM_

Two cars were driving down the Coloradan highway, both of them older model cars, two door sedans of black and white. They moved down the roadway, which was fairly barren and devoid of a lot of plant life, winding through valleys and rocky walls, five people altogether, four men and one woman. It was another band of survivors in a virus ravaged world, making their way to the nearest safe haven they could find.

The evening was a bit overcast, promising a somewhat dreary night, which none of them really wanted. Harder to see in the rain would mean a bigger chance of getting into trouble.

Winding their way around one of the rocky inclines in the valley, they came across a black Chevy suburban parked just off of the side of the road that they might not have seen if they'd been traveling faster. It definitely wasn't common to find a car settled on the side of the road like that, especially in these hills and valleys, or at least, not a car that was in tact like this one was. It looked to be a newer model with barely any scratches on her, and it got the traveler's attention.

The first sedan came to a stop about ten feet in front of the SUV that was parked near the incline, the black one following it coming to a stop just next to it. There was a man driving, and a woman settled next to him, who said, "Maurice, don't stop, it's just a car, we've got two. Let's just go, okay?"

"Megan, calm down, baby. There ain't nothing out here, and we're not gonna to run into a problem if I just look."

She groaned as Maurice grabbed the handle of his door and climbed out, pushing her black hair behind her ears with a low groan while her boyfriend began to head toward it. It looked extremely nice, much nicer and roomier than the two cars they had now, and they could all fit inside of it at once. Maurice looked back when he heard a second car door shutting and saw his brother, Antonio, walking toward him.

They were both of average build, Latin descent, Maurice shorter with his hair in a ponytail at the nape of his neck where Antonio, who had about a foot and a half of height on him, had his cropped shorter with a red bandana tied around his head. It was easy to see the similarity between them though, the two other men in the car that Antonio had been driving being their cousins Don and Miguel, who were a bit younger then they were.

Antonio spit on the ground as he approached, and Maurice said, "Even if she's got a diesel and we can't hot-wire it, she's good for parts."

"Yeah," Antonio replied a bit skeptically, "but it'd take time to get 'em, you know. I don't think we have that kind of time here, _mano_."

"How do you figure?," Maurice asked, glancing over at his brother.

Before Antonio could reply, Megan stuck her head out of the window and said, "Guys, _vamonos_! If there's a car on the side of the highway out here, it was stopped for a _reason_. Let's go!"

Antonio looked back at Maurice and jerked his thumb at Megan, "_That's_ why. No one in their right mind's gonna leave a car like this here in tip top shape unless they're dead, man. Something could still be out here. Eating them right now too, bro."

Maurice sighed, then he said, "Alright, just let me see if it's unlocked and if there's keys in it, _ese_, we've got time for that much."

"Fine," Antonio sighed out, stepping back so he could keep an eye out. When Antonio heard Megan asking as Maurice began to walk toward the Chevy, he looked over and said, "He wants to check it out, it'll only take a second." The explanation made Megan roll her eyes.

Maurice looked inside of the driver's window while Antonio told Megan this, and grabbed the handle, finding the door had opened, unlocked. So he got in and then, after a moment, called back to Antonio, "Hey, the keys are in the ignition!" He reached over to them and started the car up, whistling happily when he heard the sound of the engine purring. "She's got almost full tank of gas, _hombre_!"

Antonio smirked a bit, but he heard Don calling out after he'd rolled down the window, "_Primo_, are you guys done having the truck orgy yet? It'll be getting dark soon! Besides, if it's diesel, it's not gonna help us any! Come on, Miguel's getting scared."

"Fuck you," came Miguel's amused voice from inside of the car.

"Hey, _callete_!," Antonio told them on a level voice that he knew they could hear, giving Don a stern look while Miguel climbed out of the car. When he got closer, Antonio asked them both, "You fucking stupid? This ain't a game, _ese_."

Miguel headed over toward his cousin, rolling his eyes, "You shut up, we can get our shit, fit it in this truck, and stick together, it'd be better. And if it's diesel, not everyone uses that, so there'd be more at gas stations, right, Maurice?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, but I don't think it's a diesel."

"We don't have time for this," Megan interrupted, looking around the inclines of rocky walls not too far from the road sides with a wary gaze.

Antonio sighed, "Maurice, we can't always stop at gas stations anyway. There's more of those freaks in those places."

"So? We got guns," Maurice replied, still comfortable where he sat.

"Yeah, but for how long, man? Ammo ain't gonna last, we gotta be careful with it."

Maurice rolled his eyes, drawing out the words, "Antonio, you worry too much, _mano_." As he continued trying to explain why taking the SUV would be better, something caught Antonio's attention, rocks tumbling down one of the inclines nearby, and he looked over, tugging his handgun from his belt, saying lowly, "Maurice!"

"What!"

"Look!," Antonio demanded with a motion of his head in that direction, backing away toward the cars they'd rode to the scene in while muttering the words, "_Maldita sea_!" Megan started rolling up the windows, watching everything intently from where she sat in the car. Maurice climbed out of the suburban and grabbed his own weapon from his belt, knowing his brother wasn't fooling around.

They began to back away from the truck and to their prospective cars when suddenly a flock of birds took off from around the corner of a rock wall and overhead, which only spooked Antonio more. He'd aimed his weapon quickly, but Maurice grabbed his hand.

"It's just birds, _mano_, relax."

Miguel took a deep breath with his relief, and then he suddenly let out a little laugh, looking at his cousins, "Damn, Antonio, your pants still clean?"

Maurice snorted in amusement, and he looked behind Antonio as if to check, picking at him while Antonio slapped at his hands when he'd grabbed the back of his belt, telling his brother seriously, "I don't like this. We need to quit fucking around and go, or I'm about to leave your ass on the side of the road."

"Alright, okay," Maurice nodded, holding up his hands as if in truce. "Let's pack her up and take her. Come on, more gas, we can get father." When Antonio hesitated, Maurice said, "Hey man, I know your car's low, and it's gonna be shitty trying to fit everyone into _my_ car, bro."

Antonio sighed, guessing he was right, and when he nodded his head, Maurice looked back at Megan and said, "Come on, baby, we're taking the truck to find some shelter _por anoche_."

Antonio shook his head while turning to go back to his car to get their things out of it. As he headed there, Megan rolled her window back down and she asked, "_Porque_? It's gonna take too long. Just get back in this car Maurice, and let's get the hell out of here!"

Maurice rolled his eyes, about to argue with Megan when an accented voice sounded from the other side of the truck they'd been about to take, "I'd listen to the lady, Maurice."

Maurice looked over quickly to see a man clad in all black, a pair of shades and a leather trench coat included, walking around the front of the suburban. He added as he went, "Though I do appreciate your turning my car back on for me."

"Who the hell are you?," Maurice asked, shaking his head. "Our find, it's our car."

Wesker lifted a brow, glancing back over at the man who'd just challenged his claim on the suburban he'd been driving for a good bit of time now, and then he reached into the car and turned the ignition back off to conserve his fuel before tugging the keys out and pocketing them. He would have just climbed in the truck and driven away, but as it stood, the two sedans had parked in front of him, blocking his path, and he couldn't back out due to the rocky wall he'd parked so near to.

"Maurice," Antonio said from behind him, still backing toward his car, "come on, _hermano_. Let him have it."

"Naw, Antonio," Maurice said, looking over at him, "you wanna just give it up? _A este hijo de puta_?" After asking that question, he glanced back over at Wesker, "I don't believe you, _hombre_, otherwise, why leave your car out here in the middle of nowhere?"

Wesker didn't even feel that deserved a response, though he did reply, "Perhaps I was off _taking a leak_," sarcastically, followed by the words, "so you should run along before things start to get bad for you."

Miguel rolled his eyes, telling Wesker, "Ain't no one out here in trouble but _you_. I think it's a fair deal. You take my cousin's car, and we can pile up in that truck. Sides, you can't move that truck unless we move those cars first, so why don't you go move 'em?"

Maurice smirked as if he liked that little bit of logic, and Wesker did the same, though only because they had no idea what he could do to them. To them, they were facing down one man, the three of them holding weapons, blocking his truck in, and no doubt the other two people in the car had weapons as well - maybe not the woman however. So they had the upper hand - in their ignorance.

Wesker, on the other hand, knew that wasn't true, however.

"Fine, I'll move them, but you still need the keys to the truck," Wesker informed them, patting his hip where the keys rested in his pocket. "You'll only waste time trying to hot wire it, especially when the very reason I came back down from the top of that wall was because I noticed a certain type of creatures roaming this way, probably drawn by all the noise you three were making earlier."

"_Mierda_," Antonio drew out lowly when Wesker told them that more freaks were on the way. "Maurice! _Maldita sea! No quiero dejarte, pero voy a! Tenemos que ir, __**ahora**_!"

Any amusement on Maurice's face had faded away by that time, and he looked at Miguel, and then drew up his weapon. "Then hand over _sus llaves_, _amigo_, and we won't kill you for them."

"I have a better idea," Wesker drew out in response, then he suddenly moved to the left in a blur, coming up and around to Maurice's side before the man could even begin to register what had happened. Once he'd reached Maurice, he grabbed his arm and twisted it back tightly as he simultaneously used his free arm to slam the palm of his hand into Miguel's chest when the guy had jumped in shock over the sudden movements and tried to turn and face Wesker in order to get his bearings.

The resulting hit sent Miguel flying backwards to land in the road with a hard thud, and Megan began screaming inside of the car. Don, Miguel's brother, pushed his door open, yelling his brother's name as he went to run toward him, and Antonio just watched blankly, exclaiming, "_Dios mio_," before he crossed himself.

Wesker had jerked Maurice around to face Antonio and his two cousins while Don checked to see if Miguel was alright. Amidst all of this, Wesker - whose eyes were now glowing behind his shades - told Antonio, "Move the car, or I'll break his arm off and use it as a distraction for the zombies coming. It should be enough to keep them occupied momentarily in order to get out of here. Or some of them at least."

Antonio nodded his head, running around to his brother's car, opening the door which let out Megan's screams more loudly for a moment while Wesker heard Maurice asking, his voice laced with pain, "What the fuck are you, man?"

"Someone you should wish you hadn't stood in the way of," Wesker replied, also realizing that apparently Miguel was injured from how hard he'd been hit, because Don was yelling and cursing. He kept a mental note of that while Antonio moved the car, just incase Don decided to grab a weapon and start shooting at him.

"Let me go," Maurice grunted, unable to break the hold that Wesker had on him by an inch, cursing lowly, "_pinche cabrón_."

"Yes, most people would say that of me," Wesker replied, showing he wasn't unversed in Spanish, and Antonio had gotten the car moving out of the way which would allow Wesker to get through. Keeping his eyes open, specifically on Don, he pushed Maurice forward once the car had been moved out of the way, and sent the man sprawling onto the pavement. It was like clockwork after that, just as Wesker thought it would be. As soon as he let go of Maurice, Don turned with the anger he was apparently feeling over his injured brother and aimed Miguel's weapon, taking a shot.

Wesker ducked back too swiftly to be hit by the bullet however, but Don didn't completely miss anything. Instead, he hit the shoulder of a zombie further off in the distance who was ambling around the corner of the rocky incline on the side of the road. The monster only stopped for a moment when it was hit however, and then turned back to face the group again, letting a low moan while more zombies joined in behind it.

Maurice looked up to see this, and he cussed lowly, grabbing his weapon in order to shoot at the oncoming threats, though his aim was definitely off because of how Wesker had twisted his arm just a moment beforehand.

The group started yelling at one another in mostly Spanish to get Miguel in the car and get the fuck out of there, but Wesker ignored it, getting to the suburban while tugging his keys from his pocket. He climbed inside of the vehicle and shut the door in good time, turning the engine over just as a body landed on the hood of his truck after falling from the rocky slope he'd parked near. He remained unfazed however, even when the zombie turned toward where he sat as if to try to reach for him - despite the windshield blocking the path of his desired meal.

Wesker just put the truck into drive and took off, the momentum created enough to send the body off of the car, which rolled across the road while the five people who'd been trying to loot Wesker's truck worked to escape them and get Miguel out of harm's reach.

The sun was growing a bit low in the sky by then - not quite sunset yet, but getting toward that time - though Wesker didn't turn his headlights on, and he wouldn't. When it got dark, he would simply remove his shades and use his keen vision to see - less light to attract anything to him in the night time hours.

Wesker drove down the highway calmly, as if nothing had just happened, eyes open and on the road for anything that he might bump into which could bring his ride to a stop - and he had something particularly large to look out for which could do it much more easily than any zombie or licker could.

Wesker had often heard that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, so he figured whoever was behind this global outbreak must have really admired him. They'd sent out a type of Tyrant to slow him down, a type that he'd never seen before with certain advancements to its model that outdated the T-002 that had been destroyed so long ago now. This one seemed to be a bit more like the T-103 unleashed in Raccoon City not too long following the initial outbreak there. From what Wesker could tell, it's programming was to keep him contained, or potentially kill him - he wasn't specifically certain. But Wesker did know two things he needed to know.

One, this Tyrant had accomplished neither task yet, and two, someone had planned this out carefully because they didn't want him to get too close at all, which meant they were afraid of him. That was good - they _should_ be afraid of him. If he could ever get back to his own world, things were going to change drastically.

This entire event had either been one huge knife to the back, or someone outside of his own circle had planned this so meticulously that even Wesker had to envy the execution of it all. But he was guessing it was a bit of both betrayal and meticulous planning that had the world in the shape it was in now. For two weeks, he'd been unable to acquire much information, his phone inoperative, and there'd been little he'd been able to do about acquiring some form of air craft to pilot - not that he thought it would do him much good anyway with the alert the United States was on now, all three units, but specifically their Air Force.

He'd be targeted before he could get over open seas, and while he had faith in his piloting, he didn't have faith in his odds of success attempting that kind of run.

Though he _had_ tried - and that Tyrant had stopped him. So in a sense, perhaps the Tyrant _was_ containing him, but only for now. He'd had to evade it, and that had been partly what he was up to atop the rocky incline he'd parked his suburban next to off of the side of the road earlier. He'd wanted to get to higher ground to see if perhaps he could pick up _some_ type of signal on his phone in order to get more information, but that had all been for naught, nothing was working. So he'd just watched the surrounding area for a short while to make sure his tracks were remaining uncovered.

That was about the time he'd heard all of the chattering taking place below, survivors looking for a better ride apparently, and he'd let a sigh over it. He'd left the keys in the ignition for easy escape incase that Tyrant showed back up, and now he had humans to bother him as well. Thankfully though, he hadn't seen any signs of the mindless killing machine heading his way, so he went down to deal with the humans and leave the scene.

It'd been three days since Wesker had slept or eaten, a fairly typical run of time for him honestly, but he knew he should probably find somewhere to rest a bit that night because he would work much better if he could get some. Many probably thought he never slept or ate, but that wasn't the case. His metabolism was much higher than a human's, fueling the powers that he had, so sometimes he could eat even more than a normal person and still feel a tad hungry - though if he got nothing to eat, it didn't specifically hurt him, only slowed him down a bit.

That night, he did eventually stop in order to rest himself. As he'd settled down in the back of the truck, he thought about what he had to do now, and how he might accomplish it. He needed some kind of working signal for his phone, needed access to a computer that had a connection, but not just any computer - one that he could use to get the kind of information that the internet didn't offer.

He wanted to find out who was behind this and what their intentions were - and a normal computer wasn't going to tell him that.

His best bet was Dallas, Texas, one of a few cities out there where he heard over the radio before the channels went to static that people were staying and operating in a normal society, the city no doubt completely barricaded off under quarantine. In fact, he doubted anyone could just travel in by land. Aerial entrance only, more than likely, and anyone trying to approach on foot could potentially be shot on sight. Everything would be under martial law, strict in order to keep the virus from infecting those still living normally.

They'd be working on recreating a vaccine. It was a shame some idiot destroyed the worlds only supply in Harvardville for some foolish plan of personal gain. A vaccine for the T Virus would be worth millions upon millions right about now, and had the man waited, he could've had his chance. Wesker snorted when he'd had the thought. The limited mind and it's want for money. Wesker knew, however, that money didn't mean prestige or power. After all, a person holding a stack of cash was only as prestigious and powerful as the one pointing the gun at them allowed them to be.

Either way, he'd be heading to Dallas now with the intent of gaining more information and finding _some_ kind of transport back to his world, where he could accomplish so much more than he was now. But he didn't want to go _in_ to Dallas, unless it was absolutely necessary. No, he just wanted to get close enough to use modern day technology again.

He just had to be patient in order to get to it. It was a good thing that patience was something Albert Wesker had an abundance of, otherwise someone might've thought he was less of the cold, calculating monster he was so well reputed for being, and he couldn't have that.

For a brief moment, he wondered what the death toll of the world was at. He was fairly certain, after two weeks of spreading infections, that it was in the millions, and that being the case, he could only wonder if Chris Redfield might've made it into this so-called new age.

If Chris were truly dead now, Wesker definitely couldn't bring himself to mind, but if the man and all of his extremely potent dumb luck was in fact still alive, then Wesker could definitely see a use in him here and now. But that was still left to be seen.

Patience. Everything in its due time.


	7. Stranded

_Chapter 6 - Stranded_

_November 30__th__, 2007_

_I-25 South, Colorado_

_2:55 PM_

Plains stretched out for just about as far as the eye could see. Chris was heading south down Interstate 25 which led into Denver, Colorado - and a bunch of other urbanized areas surrounding it - which wasn't precisely the way he wanted to go. After all, urbanized areas meant more people, and more people meant more zombies - even _if_ someone could've still been alive in those places and needed help. Chris, despite his comrades joking with him on a lot of occasions, wasn't a one man army, wasn't truly a human tank in that sense, and there was only so much that he could do.

Whether he had a super dog with him or not, he thought with a grin, reaching over to scratch Dutch's head.

He'd have to get off of I-25 pretty soon, but when was the question. He'd also considered just how far off of the main road he wanted to get. For instance, if there were helicopters flying overhead, and they saw a traveling vehicle, it could be a good thing, but they would be less likely to notice him if he was using back roads. So it was a catch 22 here, he either stayed closer to the main roads and had a better chance of pick up, or he used back roads and upped his chance of survival, and maybe a chance at stranding himself because he went too far out and ran out of gas before he could find anymore.

He'd really had to debate with himself over this. After all, he didn't want to prolong his life just to meet an inevitable death anyway.

From what he could see on the GPS in his hummer that _was_ working - just not updating due to the lack of a connection - his best bet was to take a road through Buckeye until he hit US-287 and then continue south around the cities from there. He'd just crossed over the Wyoming border into Colorado not too long ago, and it was a bit more southerly, so he knew that road wouldn't be seen for a while now. In the meantime, he just relaxed and periodically searched the radio stations for anything he could find.

This was going to be a treacherous part of the trip. He almost wished he'd crossed the border into Colorado in a different area, but he'd noticed that there were _no_ real towns from where he'd entered the state nearly all the way to Fort Collins, so he was going to have to make sure he used his gas properly, and didn't end up losing his ride somehow either. He also had to think about his ammo. He knew he was well armed by _some_ standards, but he had five clips outside of his handgun and one loaded into it, and then maybe three cases of shotgun shells, so there was definitely a limit to his firepower.

He'd have to settle for single homes located across the countryside in order to get anything done if he needed food or maybe gas which he could cipher out of cars along the way, saying there _were_ any. If push came to shove and he ran out of gas, he could only imagine a horse would be his next best bet, but it was in that thinking that he worried about Dutch. He'd gotten attached to the dog, and didn't want to see anything happening to him, and if Chris lost his car, well, he wasn't so certain about the canine's future.

Pushing such thoughts out of his head, he looked out at the scenery, seeing how things looked the same as they would have before, but how beneath the surface they were so different now. What was Claire doing? Looking ahead, he imagined her in Dallas right at that moment, safe and sound, but more than likely worried about _him_ in return. That was annoying, but it was better than thinking of her trying to make her way to Dallas like he was right now. He'd rather her be worrying for him than for herself.

Dutch barked suddenly, lifting his head up and perking his ears high, and Chris looked over, completely drawn out of his thoughts. As he did, he saw a zombie standing in the distance, wearing a blue and black plaid shirt beneath a pair of bloody overalls, a somewhat chubby, older man. Maybe he'd been a farmer, or something along those lines, it would explain why he was out in the plains like he was. As the Hummer passed, the zombie slowly turned with it, and started trying to follow, but there would be no way he'd catch up to the swiftly moving vehicle.

Chris could see the thing trying to follow in his rearview mirror, and he sighed, then patted Dutch when the dog continued trying to watch. "It's alright, Dutch, they can't catch us when we're doing eighty five down the highway."

Dutch turned and settled down before he opened his maul wide to yawn, glancing his eyes up and over at Chris when he added, "It's sad to see how far the virus has made it though."

Chris heard Dutch letting a groan out that sounded like the way he'd felt about it, and he snorted in a bit of amusement. He scratched the dog's head once more and then just continued on down the road. He considered what he'd just told Dutch, and a sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach like it weighed a million tons and could've torn through the bottom of the hummer if it'd wanted to.

Did the human race even have a chance? Would he make it to Dallas before the place could get torn up by the virus? _Would_ it get torn up by the virus? If that were the case, if the world was really coming to an end now, did he even _want_ to be the last man standing? Chris rolled his eyes over the thoughts plaguing him and looked down to try to find something to distract himself.

"I hate to say it Dutch, but I need some companionship, from someone who can talk to me."

Dutch started yelping, and that got Chris to smile finally while he rummaged, the first smile he'd made in days from the way it felt. "Alright, I'll take that, and a little music, you like music, boy?" He didn't let himself listen to music much because of the noise it made which compromised his hearing, as well as attracted things that he didn't want the attention of, but he felt he could spare a song just then, and he had the perfect one - Into the Great Wide Open by Tom Petty.

After all, he felt as if he were driving into just that, a rebel without a clue as the song lamented, and who knew what could happen.

The barren plains drew on for a while as the song played, the sun shining down through the clear sky, cold on that November afternoon, and the roadways were sometimes hard to navigate because of cars parked here and there blocking the path, some with their doors left wide open. But mostly the stretch was a clear one, and Chris didn't have too much trouble just then. Chris wondered if he'd come across anyone stranded on this stretch of roadway, and he hoped he would. He'd kept the RV for a reason, though he _had_ considered ditching the thing because it did make maneuverability a bit harder to accomplish.

But he couldn't give up like that, and only kept on trucking.

As the song played, a wonderful relief to the stress of the thoughts Chris had been going over during this trip through hell, Dutch eventually stood up and put his paws up on the side of the window, letting out several barks. Chris reacted by immediately shutting the music off and looking over while keeping his direction steady on the roadside. At first, he thought the dog was barking at a carcass on the side of the road that was missing a head and one of its legs - what looked to have been a cow - with a few vultures surrounding it, but as he'd looked more closely, he noticed something entirely different.

Over the slight hills of the plains he was driving amidst, what looked to be the top of a house on an off road settled beyond the hills appeared in his vision - made more visible by smoke coming out of the chimney. He could tell Dutch was barking at it because they'd passed the carcass, and the dog was still looking in that direction.

"What? You think I should turn off the highway here and see what's over there?"

Dutch turned around in a circle in his place on the seat, almost as if he were excited by the sign of civilization, panting as he put his paws back up on the dashboard with another yelp. Chris didn't want to go and put his life in jeopardy for nothing, but he hadn't really seen Dutch acting that way before, also hadn't come across any homes with smoke rising from the chimney, and with the temperatures being so cold, that said someone could've been hauled up inside a home, trying to keep warm, stranded on this long stretch of highway with no way out.

Uncertain, Chris decided to pull off of the main highway and took the exit ramp down to the rural area road so that he could find out for himself.

In cases like this, he expected to find the worst so he'd be completely prepared, and as the hummer pulling the RV came down the roadway, the white house settled atop the hill about thirty yards from the side of the road came completely into view - a farm house with blue shudders by the windows. Chris looked the place over quietly, putting the hummer into park before cutting off the engine to conserve gas.

The first thing he noticed was that there were carcasses in the front yard - human carcasses. They weren't littering the yard like they'd been brought to be burned, but there were three he could see for sure, and they were missing their heads. They were accompanied by the body of a horse laying about three feet from the front path that led up to the porch, and Chris could only imagine the horse had been their meal before they'd been killed permanently with decapitation, or maybe the head shots of a gun.

Everything was quiet, very much so, which made Chris wary, and he waited where he sat for some sign that he really just needed to get the hell out of there. One thing he noticed however, aside from the corpses in the yard, was an old station wagon parked behind a 1960's model Ford pickup truck that looked like it'd been completely restored, and next to it, on the ground, was a canister for gas with the cap of the fuel tank hanging from the side of the vehicle, saying someone had attempted to cipher gas from the car.

Maybe it wasn't a total loss to have come out here. Another fuel canister, maybe with fuel already in it. With a little breath, Chris went to grab his weapon and check the chamber of his weapon, and then he did the same for his shotgun, pulling the strap over his chest. He didn't get out just then though, and instead, checked his GPS to plot his course, wanting to know if he was on a dead end road, or if he'd have to find another way back to the highway he'd just pulled off of.

After a moment, he said, "Well, this road winds around and connects with I-25 anyway, so I'll still be able to take a detour on US 287 later. That's a good thing." Reaching for the handle of his door, he added the words, "Alright Dutch, you know the drill, sit here and be quiet. Think you can manage that?"

Dutch let a low groan and folded his ears down, lowering his head to his front paws, and Chris smile and patted the dog, "Good boy. Stay." He was extremely glad for Dutch's extensive training, but he got a bad feeling about the future of the dog's life for some strange reason he couldn't place despite that training. It wasn't always guaranteed that Dutch would behave in a crisis situation, and if it came down to it, Chris might have to put the dog down himself.

But if it came to it, Chris would rather put the dog down than let him get eaten alive. After all, that was probably the worst death anyone could suffer in his opinion.

Shutting the door to the hummer, he turned and headed toward the front of the car, looking forward and then back, making sure nothing was about to get the drop on him before he began heading up the incline of the front yard. He avoided stepping into the un-mowed grass by taking the cement path led up through the front yard and to the porch steps, moving along quietly and carefully.

Eventually, he edged up by the carcass of the horse he'd spotted before he'd gone that way. The brown and white speckled horse was laying about three feet from the path, missing all but one leg, two of which were bloody stumps - and the smell was horrible.

"Jesus," he muttered out quietly, having to stop because he noticed that amongst all of the bite marks on the animal's body, there was buck shot, which told that this horse had taken a good few shots at a pretty close range from a shotgun before it'd finally gone down. Which suddenly clicked with him. The damned thing still had a head.

It suddenly lifted its head and snapped at him with large, flat teeth, began to squirm while making an odd, low pitch humming sound, and Chris pushed himself back even though he'd already been out of range for the animal to reach him. Chris could see that the eye on the right side of its face was gone, and so was a good bit of the skin and fur, lines of drool snapping from its maul while it tried to get at him, but to no avail with no way to walk.

Taking in a breath, realizing that the immobile horse couldn't reach him with only one leg, he looked around at the rest of the yard, getting that tingling sensation he normally got whenever something said he shouldn't have been in a particular place, his handgun clutched tightly in his fingers up by his head while his brown eyes scanned and searched the area, ignoring the eery groan of the horse behind him.

In fact, he thought he could hear that same low pitched groan the horse was making coming from the distance, but it was hard to tell over the one being made so close by. Chris had turned to look toward the field that lined the right side of the house, wanting to put a bullet in the head of the horse near him now, but he didn't want to attract the attention of anything in range to hear it, so instead, he slipped his knife out of its sheath.

Things got quiet again when that knife was deftly released in the horses path with enough momentum behind it to stab into the cranium completely, the entire body going limp only a moment after that. Chris looked back up and around then, hearing nothing in the newly made silence as he'd thought he had before. Slowly his tension began to fade, and he drew out a breath slowly, though still listening carefully - and it was then when he suddenly heard something he hadn't expected - the click of a hammer.

Chris turned around to face the house when he saw a woman standing on the front porch, the door behind her shut, a handgun in her hands that she wasn't aiming at him in specific, but she'd tugged down the hammer to get his attention instead. She had red hair, a shade or two brighter than Claire's, and out of her simple attire of a long sleeved shirt beneath a denim vest and a pair of jeans, he noticed she also had a radio on her belt.

She looked just as wary about their surroundings as Chris had felt, and softly, she asked, "Have you been hurt by one of those things?"

Apparently she wasn't satisfied that he wasn't a zombie completely, and wanted to make sure he wasn't bitten, or maybe even just going to hurt her so he could take whatever she might've had that was valuable. Chris couldn't specifically say he'd have been any different about it in her situation.

"No," Chris told her as calmly as possible, "I'm not infected. I stopped because I saw smoke coming out of the chimney, and that doesn't say undead monster to me."

The red head pursed her lips as if she were considering it, wanted to believe him, wanted to put down her gun, and welcome someone who didn't want to eat her, but she had a wary expression on her face as if she just wasn't sure she wanted to believe any kind of hope that might've fallen onto her doorstep.

Though after a moment, she finally nodded, saying, "Alright then," and she looked around before backing up to the door, "let's go inside and talk there before something wanders this way."

"Good idea," Chris replied, holding onto his own gun aimed down and out as he'd stepped up onto the porch, letting the woman open the door and walk inside before he followed behind her.

It was a quaint countryside home on both the inside an the outside, one Chris knew didn't legitimately belong to the woman currently staying there more than likely, or maybe it did and she'd done a damned good job of protecting herself, but Chris couldn't believe that was an actuality in this case. He looked back at her when she shut the door and locked it with all three locks just to be safe. After she'd completed that task and turned back around to face him, she said, "I'm not trying to be hard to get along with, but I have a lot to protect, so I needed to make sure you didn't have any wounds or anything before I let you in here."

With a little nod, putting his gun back onto the holster across his chest, Chris asked her, "What are you protecting? Are there other people here?"

"Just my daughter and I," she replied with a nod, then held out her hand. "My name's Regan Davison."

"Chris Redfield," he replied, taking her hand in his to shake in greeting. Once he'd introduced himself, he asked her, "You and your daughter have been hauling up here? Or is this your home?"

"No, we've just been stranded out here for about three days now. My car broke down on I-25 not too far away from here, and this was the closest place we could find to bunker down. At first it seemed like winning the lottery, but when I realized just how far we are from any place where we might be able to get another ride, or food, I realized it could be a death trap for us both."

She was right, Chris knew, because the nearest place was a _long_ walk away, and with her daughter, however old the kid might be, walking and hoping to find some kind of transportation on the way wasn't an option. "Guess it's a good thing I stopped then," Chris told her. "My dog started barking on the way down I-25, and I noticed the smoke. I'm heading to Dallas, the last radio reports said it was a safe haven. I figure the least I can do is get close enough to see, and if not, then I'll just have to go from there."

Nodding, Regan replied, "I heard the same thing. Dallas and a couple other places, like Atlanta had all managed to quarantine enough of its area to keep the infection out and make safe havens for survivors, _if_ they could reach it."

"Right. Well," Chris shook his head, looking around again, "if you want, you can ride with me. I've got plenty of room for you and your kid, and honestly, it's damned good to see someone who's not infected besides my own face in the mirror."

Those words made her smile and give him a concurring nod. "I'd really like that, and I can imagine. Have you been alone since all of this started?"

Chris, for what seemed like the first time in days, let himself relax just a slight bit, his shoulders slumping when he thought about where he'd been when the missile launch had happened, and he shook his head, "At first, I was in Pinedale, Wyoming on mandatory vacation. I spent a day there, trying to help out, but it was a lost cause really, such a small town, people getting out in a massive panic or turning into zombies. Their local police station had been abandoned, looters were out in full force, and I knew that trying to fight the mob was a no win situation. So I raided their police station for ammunition and high tailed it out of there. Ever since, yeah, I've been on my own."

She listened to the story, seeming to be able to relate to it, replying, "I'm from Rapid City in South Dakota, or that's where I was when all of this started. My neighbor tried to eat my little girl, so as you can imagine, I left town ASAP." She noticed his reaction to that was to look to the side with a grim expression, knowing the story was pretty gruesome to hear, let alone have to go through. Looking down, she reached to her belt and pressed the button on it, saying into the receiver, "Shannon, you can come out, and come downstairs. Everything's fine."

The radio buzzed for a second and Chris heard the sound of a little girl coming through, replying, "Roger, Mama, I'm on my way."

Chris found a little amusement over that, watching as Regan put the radio back onto her belt while she explained, "I found these in an abandoned police vehicle and use them to keep in touch with her whenever I have to leave her alone because she's so afraid of being by herself, well, in the car anyway. Also comes in handy when I had to get instructions to her fast, like to turn the car on so it'd be ready by the time I got there. There's some things I'll risk, but Shannon isn't one of them."

"Understandable," Chris told her with a nod, hearing the sound of a door opening upstairs followed by little footsteps as legs appeared walking down the steps next to them. She was a miniature Regan from the looks of it, her hair a bit shorter, but the same red color, and when she made it to the bottom and turned around, she looked up - way up - and blinked a few times at Chris.

Chris smiled down at her, and Regan went to stand next to her, saying, "Shannon, this is Mr. Redfield."

Chris decided to reach down and shake her hand, and the eight year old took the hand shake though she could barely spread her hand to cover his palm, and Chris told her, "Just call me Chris."

"Chris?," Shannon asked, looking him over. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look like the Terminator?"

Regan smirked, patting Shannon's head while Chris replied, "Yeah, actually. My old partner used to tell me that."

"Your old partner had a good eye then," Shannon nodded as if she just knew that for a fact, her expression giving her that cute look that most children had which somehow seemed to be exclusively reserved for children alone.

"That's her favorite movie," Regan said, "because she says there needs to be a Terminator from the future to come back and kill all of the monsters."

That made Chris grin, and Shannon saw his shotgun he had hanging over his chest, the gloves he wore, and she asked him, "Have you killed many monsters?"

Chris couldn't count how many he killed, so he only nodded at her, "Yeah, I've killed my share."

"That's good, one less thing to worry about. Mama said they're not people anymore, that something in them is keeping them from resting peacefully like you should. Do you believe that too?"

"I do, actually," Chris replied, then he stood back up straight. It seemed like the best way to put it to a child that was vague enough to keep them from getting really scared, but plain enough that they could understand it.

He looked from Shannon to Regan though when she asked the little girl, "Did you find your gloves, Squirt?"

Shannon blinked, the look on her face saying she suddenly remembered, and she looked up, "Oh yeah, upstairs. I'll be back."

As she went to get them, Regan explained to Chris, "It's been extremely cold in this house, there's no power, so I've had a fire in the wood stove going, just burning whatever I can find around here for now. I was hoping it might attract living attention too I guess. Suppose I got extremely lucky." She motioned for him to follow her, which he did, heading through an arch to the right that went into the living room, and over to a corner mantle where a wood stove was settled that had a pot on it.

As she walked, she continued to say, "This house had some canned goods stocked up, mostly vegetables, corn, peas, beans," she chuckled, waving a hand, "if you want to grab a bite, feel free."

"I think I'll pass for now," Chris replied, looking around the dim room, seeing that Regan had boarded the front window off and had a blanket hanging over it to prevent being seen. "I'd like to get back on the road as soon as possible," he added, informing her, "I've got a bad feeling about this place, and I don't ignore my instincts."

Regan had reached to the coffee table to grab a pack of cigarettes, holding them out to him after she'd plucked one from the pack for herself, unknowing if he smoked or not but deciding to offer if he did. Chris accepted, and when he did, Regan tossed the pack back down onto the table and lit hers, then asked, "What kind of feeling?"

"The kind that says I'm somewhere I don't need to be," he replied, taking the lighter from her and then looking over as Shannon came into the room.

The little girl had her gloves on now, watching Chris who took the lighter from her mother as she asked him, "Where are you from?"

Chris looked back at the little girl, taking a drag of the cigarette while Regan started putting together the things they had out in that room to be taken with them, saying, "Originally I'm from Maryland. But I moved to Denver when I was six years old and grew up there."

Shannon had climbed onto the couch, saying, "We're from Chicago."

Regan was finished getting a small case of luggage packed, not much inside of it, though she'd apparently stuffed a ton of odds and ins inside of it, including a first aide kit, more lighters, a few handgun mags, a photo album, gloves, sunglasses, and a carton of smokes with about three packs missing from it. The suitcase wasn't very big, but it was big enough to hold all of that at least, and still light enough to carry, even for the little girl. She didn't close it yet though, leaving Chris to wonder if she had a few more things to pack, but he didn't ask about it, and only told Shannon in curiosity, "Your mom said you were from Rapid City."

"That's where we lived. But Mama and me are from Chicago first."

"Mama and I," Regan corrected her with a teasing smile.

When she did, Shannon slapped her hand over her mouth and said, "Oh! Yeah, Mama and I. Sorry Mama."

Regan chuckled, adding, "Well, Mr. Redfield," then she remembered to correct herself with what he'd said about his name, "I mean _Chris_," she corrected herself, watching Shannon stick her tongue out at her, which Regan returned playfully, and finished her statement while Chris smirked at them both with the words, "Chris has said we can ride along with him to go to Dallas if we want to. You think that's a good idea?"

"And get out of here!," Shannon asked as if it were a no brainer. "Yeah! That's a _great_ idea!"

Chris was genuinely amused now at how Shannon had put it, and he looked from her to Regan when she spoke, "Well, I guess that's all settled then, so you should go get the things you left upstairs, but don't touch the rifle, got it? I'll get that myself."

"Okay, Mama," Shannon gave with a nod, hopping up and moving off to the stairs again in order to get her things packed together into her backpack once more.

Once she'd left the room, Regan looked over, starting to head out herself, asking, "You said you have a dog?"

"Yeah," Chris nodded.

"Give me one second then," she replied, and Chris lifted a brow. After a moment, she came back around the corner with a black bag that probably carried food, and she lifted a can of Alpo, asking, "Think he'll like this?"

"He'll probably love it."

"Good," she smiled, putting it into the bag with the rest. "Whoever lived here had a dog. There's like five cans and a huge bag in the kitchen pantry. I threw them all in here."

Chris appreciated that. After all, more of the dog's own food meant more for the rest of them. It was then that he asked, "How's Shannon about dogs? Is she scared of them?"

Regan's smile faded a little as she settled the bag down next to the suitcase and then shut it, saying with a deep sigh of breath, "I don't think she'd have a problem with him. Shannon's really scared to death, but she doesn't show it all of the time, tries to brave it out and hide it from me." After a moment of thought over that, Regan added, "God, I hate that she's seen so much now. She gets quiet every now and again and I can tell she's thinking about everything. I don't like it."

Regan took another draw from the cigarette, continuing her item shuffle to make sure she'd gotten everything together, specifically ammo, and Chris looked over at her, feeling true remorse for the little girl who was too young to really fend for herself in this kind of world. He felt bad for Regan too because it had to hurt any parent to know their child was going through such a thing.

In a slight attempt at comfort, he said, "Well, she's still got you, right?"

Regan scoffed slightly, "I guess. Not that I haven't almost gotten us killed a couple of times. I had no idea those freaks wouldn't die unless you completely...just took off the head."

"I know what you mean," Chris drew out, though his experience with that had come from years beforehand. "And if you don't, you _do_ know what happens to them, right?"

Regan glanced over at Chris, her brows narrowing. "What do you mean?"

Apparently she had no idea what he was talking about. Chris stood up from where he'd half leaned, half sat on the arm of the couch, saying, "If you don't take off the head, they'll get stronger and faster when they come back after being taken down. They're called Crimson Heads."

Regan stared at Chris, blinking her green eyes once or twice as she absorbed that information. After a moment, she cussed, "Well fuck, as if they're not a problem to begin with. How'd you find that out?"

She'd asked the last question as something of an afterthought, and Chris clutched his cigarette between his lips, turning to look through the window by lifting the blanket a bit, checking on his hummer in the distance, which looked safe and sound for the moment, and Dutch wasn't going crazy, so that was a plus. When he realized this, he told her, "Let's just say I have a lot of experience dealing with this shit. I'm a member of the BSAA."

"BSAA?," Regan asked somewhat vaguely. "That almost sounds familiar, but not quite."

"Bio-terrorism Security Assessment Alliance. It's a global military unit that fights terrorism such as this."

Regan's brows furrowed when she heard this. Turning to flick her cigarette in an opened soda can she'd been using as an ashtray, she asked, "You were on vacation when this all started?"

"Uh huh," Chris drew out blandly, turning back around to face her from glancing through the window.

"Sounds to me like that was the last place you needed to be then, like they could've used you."

"That's what I intend to tell them when I get back, _if_ I ever see them again. They'd been hounding me about taking a break for a while, and when I do, look what happens."

Regan's lips pursed, feeling a slight bit of amusement over that description, though she _did_ wonder why he'd been hounded to go on vacation - unless he was a workaholic of some type. But instead of dwelling on it, she gave him a bit more information on herself, figuring he could use it if they were really going to survive all of this.

"I'm former Army Reserve myself. Only three years worth of experience, but," she shrugged, "at least it's coming in handy now I guess."

"What rank?"

"Just a private," Regan replied, "I wasn't there to try and make a career out of it. I just wanted to try to whip my own sorry ass into shape," she chuckled. "It's a long story."

With a nod of his head, Chris replied, using the same soda can she'd used to flick his ashes into, "Former Air Force pilot here, discharged for misconduct. Also a long story."

"Oh yeah?," Regan grinned. "Well, I'll keep that in mind for future reference, and who knows, maybe if we live long enough, we'll be able to swap stories."

Giving her a nod, Chris replied, "I don't intend on dying anytime soon, so we'll share stories in Dallas."

He'd said that so confidently that Regan had to wonder just how _much_ experience he had dealing with these types of situations. He almost didn't even sound scared at all. But she didn't comment on it, not just then, listening when he went on to ask, "You got everything in that suitcase?"

"Yeah," she replied when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and looked over as Shannon walked in complete with her backpack on her back and her coat on her arms.

"I didn't touch the rifle," she promised her mother, and then looked at Chris. "What kind of car do you drive?"

"Right now, a hummer with an RV hitched to it. I would've ditched it to save on gas, but I got the feeling it could've come in handy if I picked any survivors up."

Setting the suitcase on the floor near the door, Regan asked, "Did the RV come from the trip?"

"Yeah," Chris smirked suddenly, as if amused by what he was about to tell them. "Let's just say I didn't take the time out to try to return it to the rental agency. I figured if they wanted to, they could bill me."

Regan grinned, looking over at Shannon, asking, "You got everything, Squirt?"

"Yep, I'm all set."

With a nod, Regan looked at Chris, telling him, "I'm gonna go get my rifle. I set her up upstairs so I could keep a watch out during the night. Nothing much has passed through here, except those god darned horses," she censored herself for her daughter's sake, adding then, "By the way, there's a gas canister outside. I managed to check it, and she's full of gas, but there might be more in the tank. Someone else probably came through here and got caught by the horses. They're a lot faster than people zombies are, but if you can take out their legs, well, that takes them down at least."

"I could tell from what I saw outside, and I'll keep it in mind," Chris nodded, then he put his cigarette into the soda can and directed, "Go get the rest of your stuff. I'll go outside and grab the gas can in the meantime, make sure everything is clear."

Deciding to listen to him, Regan nodded her head and went around the corner, telling Shannon to wait right where she was for her. The little girl nodded at her while she left for the upstairs, and then looked up at Chris when he passed, asking, "You're gonna go out there by yourself?"

Chris couldn't help smirking a bit, turning to look down at the kid, kneeling so he'd be a bit more level with her. Nodding his head, he answered her question with the words, "Yeah, it's part of my job anyway. I'll be alright."

Shannon pursed her lips, looking him over quietly. "Yeah, I figured that much, but aren't you scared?"

Chris sighed when he considered the answer to that question, still showing his smile though as he told her, "Sometimes. But I got some backup now, right?" He grinned at her and then stood up after patting her shoulder softly.

Looking back up, Shannon gave him a nod, saying, "Yeah, oh, I mean, that's affirmative."

Chris couldn't help but chuckle before he turned to go back to the front door. He got the feeling he was going to like this kid. Heading outside, he tugged his shotgun around to clutch in his grasp. He'd remembered what Regan had said about the horses being faster than humans, so he decided to use the extra firepower, just incase. Besides, he didn't really think his handgun would do too much good against a creature as big as that.

Shannon watched the man leaving, then she turned and went over to the couch, quietly climbing onto it in order to lift the blanket covering the window just a bit to look outside and watch him heading across the front lawn, toward the gravel driveway where the old truck was parked. As she peered between the wooden beams that had been nailed across the window, she noticed movement from the corner of her eyes, and she turned her head, suddenly gasping and scrambling off of the couch at what she saw.

Regan had headed down the steps with her rifle in her hand, pushing the strap over her head when she heard the sudden scrambling, and she picked up her pace, carrying her rifle into the hallway and then the living room where she ran into Shannon.

"Mommy!," she pointed at the door, "there's a horse out there!"

"Shit," Regan cussed lowly, and just then heard the blast of a shotgun. "Stay there," she said, moving toward the front door, hearing a second blast on the way, and she opened the door and looked both ways to make sure the coast was clear before stepping out onto the front porch.

Glancing down to the driveway, she realized that Chris had just blown the legs out from beneath a black horse, and then blown the head off at close range while the animal had tried to snap at him. The body shivered and then fell still, and glancing from the corpse and to Chris, she saw him giving her a thumbs up, to which she nodded and then went back inside for her things.

"Come on, let's go, Chris got the horse," she told Shannon, grabbing the suitcase and the bag, which Shannon reached for quickly.

"Let me carry the bag, it's light." Shannon wanted to be as helpful as she could, and she twisted the top of the bag around her arm so she could keep the contents close to her body in order to keep them from making so much noise when they moved. Once she'd done that, and Regan had the suitcase in her hand, she took her mother's free hand and went to the front door, then stepped out on the porch. She was ready to head directly to Chris, but she stopped when Regan suddenly did, releasing her daughter's hand to grip her shoulder and keep her still as if she'd noticed something wrong.

Shannon looked up to see her mother slowly turning her head to the right, and the little girl's green eyes drifted in that direction hesitantly. She'd just heard the same sound that her mother had - that eery groan.

From around the side of the house right at the end of the porch, a brown horse ambled around the corner wall, bumping into it while making the sound they'd both heard which had stopped Regan in her tracks. Shannon's heart began to pound, grabbing her mother's leg tightly while she buried her mouth in her other hand to keep quiet until her mother told her what to do.

Regan took in a slow breath, standing extremely still because she'd noticed that the horse seemed to be having trouble seeing because its eye was hanging gruesomely out of the socket. The question was, is the other eye in tact, or was the animal completely blind, only drawn by the sound of Chris's gunfire? She glanced back when she noticed Chris coming up, his shotgun not very effective at the range he was at, and his hand gun would be like shooting a bee-bee gun at a zombie. But he stopped when she waved a hand at him as if she wanted him to stay back and out of sight, and then shook her head while pointing two fingers at her eyes.

Chris narrowed his brows, guessing she was saying the horse was blind so she didn't want him to be seen and make the creature suddenly charge someone, and he watched as she quietly turned to face it. It was about eight feet away from the mother and her child, maybe nine, and Regan feared they were too close to make a proper run for it considering the risk that the animal had an eye on the other side of its head and could start chasing them - especially if she could get a decent shot right then and there.

Chris watched her lifting the weapon to put the scope at her eye, and then she pulled the trigger a second later. Blood sprayed out of the opposite side of the undead horse's head, the body going limp and falling to the ground without a problem, and the rifle didn't have a very loud discharge on it - it must've had a silencer built in for quiet sniping.

But despite the elimination of the current threat, there was still a good bit of tension on them being in the open like that, and Chris said, "Come on, let's go before more come along."

Regan didn't have to be told twice, turning to reach down and lift Shannon up since she could feel the little girl trembling against her leg, carrying the scared child against her side as she headed toward Chris. Chris waited for her to reach him before he began to move. He reached for the suitcase Regan carried so she could hold onto her daughter more easily and put the handle of it in the same hand as the old gas can he was carrying now, grasping his shotgun at the ready as he went, leading them out to his hummer.

Moving down the cement path and out toward the road, Chris heard Dutch barking, and he cussed lowly, looking around to see if he could spot what the dog was going on about. He came to a stop in the street as he'd looked around to see if he could spot the cause of the dog's anxiety when he noticed wafts of blackness in the sky, not a large mass, but it was heading toward them. Chris narrowed his brows at first, but then it hit him what the mas was.

Crows, possibly infected with the virus.

He turned to see that Regan had looked over he stopped, and Chris started moving, "Get in the car, the door's unlocked. Something might be coming this way."

Regan did just that, and as Chris got to the driver's side door, he opened it and said, "Dutch, back seat."

The dog turned and jumped into the back without question as Chris lifted the gas can and the suitcase into the hummer, then pulled himself inside and shut the door. Once he'd gotten settled, he looked up and out of the window, the same as Regan did. She noticed the birds in the sky, and noticed how Chris had reacted when he'd seen them, looking over at him to ask, "Birds are bad?"

"They can be. I don't want to risk drawing their attention, I think they were startled by the gunfire, or maybe the roaming horses. If they pass over us, they'll probably leave us alone."

Shannon, who's eyes were streaked with tears from how scared she'd been by the horse, looked up and back through the window, out at the sky. "They won't see us in here, will they?"

Chris was holding his breath on that one. But he heard Regan saying, "Just relax, Shannon, we'll be okay in here." He hoped the girl believed her. It wasn't easy having a scared child on your hands.

He held onto his shotgun just incase things got bad, the flying flock getting closer to the house and to them until it began to circle over the area and turned to fly in another direction. As soon as they disappeared from sight, Chris let out his breath, glad the birds didn't seem to be too interested.

Regan seemed to relax as well, and she then looked at Shannon, who'd gone to hide her head again. "Hey, it's okay, they're gone now. You can open your eyes, Squirt."

Shannon blinked them open, and then she sat back on her mother's lap while looking over at her and wiping her cheeks. Chris watched Regan reaching up to push Shannon's hair back behind her ears while giving the girl a warm, comforting smile, and he considered everything while tugging his keys from his pocket. He was glad he'd driven this way now. He honestly hadn't expected to find many survivors, but now he had a mother and her daughter, and that made him feel good in a way he hadn't felt for the first time in weeks. Not only did it make him feel as if his life spent fighting this kind of shit had been worth a damn after all, but it also gave him hope that there could be more people out there, that this world could make it after all.

That was when he heard Shannon gasp, and he glanced back to see Dutch sticking his head over the front seat, sniffing at the newcomers.

"You have a dog!," Shannon got out while she sniffled from her tears.

"Yeah, Regan, Shannon, meet Dutch, retired k-9 unit."

"He used to be a police dog?," Shannon asked, reaching up to let him sniff her hand before she rubbed him. Dutch looked happy for the attention, flicking his tongue out against her hand affectionately.

Chris was glad to see that Shannon wasn't scared of Dutch, pushing the keys into the ignition before he told her, "Yep, Dutch, say hello."

Dutch let a few little yelps, which got Shannon to smile at him, but she sat back and out of the way when she noticed Chris lifting the gas can to put into the backseat of the car, while Dutch moved to the side as well.

Once he was done, he turned back to the wheel and asked, "We ready to go?"

"Very," Shannon replied, and Regan nodded her head in agreement.

"Same here," Chris responded a little blandly, putting the car into drive and pushing on the gas pedal. The hummer started off down the road again, the gas tank missing a little less than half its fuel, which gave them a good amount of time before they'd have to stop and fill her up again.

"Thank you," Regan said after a few moments of driving. Chris glanced over at her from the road and back again as she continued, "I wasn't sure what was going to happen to us when we got stranded at that house."

"It's no trouble," Chris nodded, telling her, "I should thank you too. I was starting to think there wasn't anyone left. You proved me wrong."

"Happy to be of service, Chris," Shannon said cutely, and he smiled over at her. Reaching up, he ruffled her hair, making her lifted her arms to bat him while grumbling out a little snicker.

"Not the hair, dude!," she exclaimed, immediately beginning to straighten it when Chris was done, which got a laugh out of him.

Regan was chuckling over it, informing Chris, "You can mess with a lot of things, but never Shannon's hair, or her music, right, Shannon?"

"Yep," she nodded, leaving her hair alone when she was satisfied with how it was laying.

"I'll keep that in mind," Chris said in response. From there, he eventually got back onto the highway and continued driving south. The world was looking just a bit brighter at that moment in time.


	8. Survivalist

_Chapter 7 - Survivalist_

_November 30__th__, 2007_

_Olathe, Colorado_

_4:51 PM_

It was a scene out of a novel about American suburbia and the small towns that went with it. In the rural areas, the homes stood beneath an overcast sky in abandoned silence, just as homey and inviting as they had been the day the world began to go to hell. Flowers planted in the yards, potted plants, lawn furniture and picket fences, knocked over tricycles and children's toys, and silence were the props creating the scene.

Light drizzles had been falling on and off over the course of the day, leaving the street with a sheen beneath the abandoned cars in the business areas, by which Zombies passed every now and again, ambling aimlessly at current. It was a ghost town, no life at all, even from the undead's standards. The town wasn't a huge one by far, so it was logical that it wouldn't have stood much of a chance from the beginning, and the people who _had_ survived would've left for other places early on, but either way, for all intents and purposes, this place was dead.

Downtown, the main city junction, was in much the same condition. One zombie stood amidst the parked, wrecked, and abandoned cars, and with a shot, his head seemed to explode as someone walked past about twenty feet behind him, the man's trench coat picked up in the breeze while he came to a stop and lowered his arm, gun still in his gloved hand.

Wesker adjusted his shades, looking around the area quietly as thunder softly rumbled in the distance, then lifted and put his weapon back into his shoulder harness before he headed on through the streets on foot. He'd parked his truck outside of the city limits and ventured in for supplies - namely ammo - knowing that this city was small and therefore probably had a good amount of things to offer since it had been decimated by the T Virus early on. He stepped across the rain slicked pavement and onto an adjoining road, looking down it quietly.

A good few zombies littered the opposite end of the street, and since Wesker didn't want to waste his ammo on every zombie he came across, he turned and looked at the building across the street, noticing the awning wasn't too far from the roof. So he took off running and leapt upwards a good bit higher than any normal person could accomplish, followed by a second leap when his boots had hit the awning he was initially aiming for.

Landing on the rooftop after his second jump, he looked back and down at the roadway below, his vantage point much better now, and he made his way along the edge of the building quietly. A bit of wind picked up as he reached the far corner of the structure and continued to survey the area until he found what he was looking for, blowing up the back of his trench coat as he stood there in a dramatic effect a movie might have on one of its characters. It took him a few moments, but when he finally found the path he wanted to take, he reared back just a bit and then pushed off of his legs with a slight grunt of effort, jumping across the way.

He landed on the next door rooftop, and kept going, running now, until he had to jump again, all the way down the road before he got to the last building when he came to a stop and stood up from the crouch he'd landed in. Stepping over to the edge, he looked down and saw his destination below and across the roadway - the town's police station. Likely they didn't carry many supplies as far as ammo was concerned due to the size of the town it'd served, but it would be more than enough for his own use, so he jumped down from where he'd perched after noticing there weren't any threats on that section of roadway he'd have to worry about.

The doors and windows had been boarded up, but Wesker still noticed the carcass of a police office laying on the road near by. Irony, he considered for a brief moment. He didn't pay it much attention however as he reached for his weapon again with one hand and grasped the handle of the door with the other. It was a wooden door with three small windows across the top of each frame, and he listened for movement on the other side to make sure there was nothing waiting for him there whenever he entered. When he heard only silence, he pulled the door open and looked, then walked in, taking in his new surroundings - and the smell of decaying flesh which had honestly become a fairly normal thing.

Inside was a front counter, chairs for waiting, and an office space behind the counter with a few desks, table fans, toppled over chairs, and papers strewn about from wind blowing in through a broken pane of glass in one of the windows. Wesker walked toward the gate in the front counter and stepped through it, casually reminded of his days as the S.T.A.R.S. Captain - the longue area held a good resemblance to that type of office space.

Nevertheless, he walked to the edge of the archway behind the counter that went into the back of the station, and tilted his head to glance down the hallway it led into. There was nothing to see however save the marble floor and the walls lined with doors, a few spatters of blood here and there, so he stepped through the archway and continued on. The doors were all marked with numbers, which didn't say much for what they'd been used for, save the one on the back wall where Wesker had the option of turning right only, and that one humorously read Commissioner C. Gordon across the frosted glass window.

"I'm certain you were wondering where Batman was," Wesker drew out blandly as he approached it, then came to a stop and looked right where the hallway led at the turn, which unveiled a set of stairs that went up. "Must be where they kept the bat signal."

Heading toward the stairs and taking them up, he came to another hallway and let a little sigh. Small towns, he thought to himself for a moment, and their small police stations. This hallway had a dead end, so Wesker was going to have to start checking doors. He didn't specifically relish that thought because it could possible take so long, but he knew if he didn't, he would soon be out of ammo, and that wasn't something he was wanting to happen in specific.

It took him about ten minutes to find what he was looking for finally after carefully checking the rooms out, which was a longue room that led to a second area in the station where there was a locker room, and next to it that was a storage area with a few selections of guns and ammo already laid out on a table, sitting pretty and ready to be picked up and loaded into a gun - _too_ well organized. The area was dimly lit, but it wasn't hard to tell that this place had been in use recently. Perhaps there was a survivor, he considered, someone who'd bunkered down and had been killing the zombies off.

Wesker hadn't come across a single walking corpse on the way there after all, though he had seen a few blood spatters dried across the floors and the walls. So it definitely gave off the impression that someone must have been by there already, trying to keep their life in tact. Such a person who knew how to keep their wits in a crisis situation would come in handy on the way to Dallas potentially. Then again, they might not considering their potential mental state of being.

Regardless of anyone about however, he stepped into the storage facility and to the table where the ammo had been laid out with a selection of guns and even a few knives and daggers of differing sizes and styles - some double edges, others one sided with a serrated blade - and he wondered who'd lined these up so nicely for him with a smirk on his face. He tugged his own handgun out and checked the chamber - seven shots left - deciding he'd made it here just in time.

That's when heard the snap of a hammer and the words, "Get them up in the air," spoken on a nonsensical tone of voice that seemed to hold a casual, but definitely not idle tone. It was a female voice, and judging by the sound in the space in which he was standing in, she was close to the door, perhaps five feet behind himself. Wesker didn't bother putting his hands up until he'd put his weapon away however, then he showed her that he was no longer holding onto his gun.

"They're up," he spoke the obvious, "now what?"

"Now get the fuck out," came the retort, followed by the words, "this isn't your reload station. You want guns and ammo, go to a supply store, there's one up in Delta that should suit your needs. But these are mine."

He found himself amused. Just yesterday he'd been defending his truck from being looted, and now he had become the looter. "You have a rather impressive arsenal for one person here, though I wouldn't say there's a such thing as going overboard in this situation. Are you trying to bunker down and stay in one place?"

"It's worked so far," she informed him.

"But it won't work forever, and when you _do_ have to leave, you'll realize that you've used up all of your ammunition here when most of it would've been put to better use trying to get to one of the cities broadcast over the radios."

"I've thought about that, but who knows if those cities are still quarantined or not. Those broadcasts went down over a week ago now. Still, this is my stock. So get the fuck out."

"Out of curiosity," Wesker began, slowly turning around to face the woman, and as he turned, he lowered his hands and spoke, "you're _not_ interested in taking whatever _I_ have before I go?"

His eyes met hers, and he'd been right, she was about five feet away from him, and her aim was sure. Her hands weren't shaking, her face was a serious mask of business, and she wasn't fooling around - she wanted him to get out. The glint of her eyes told him as much, but she really posed no threat to him - not many did anymore. So he was still unimpressed.

She wasn't a big woman either, maybe 5'5' and athletically slender, so definitely no trouble for him to overcome, clad in a simple white button down and a pair of black slacks with standard issue police force combat boots on her feet - though she lacked a badge or name tag. She was also wearing a holster around her hip, and her hair was damp and drying after an apparent wash in the station's shower.

As he'd taken this in, she responded to his query by saying, "I'm not trying to take anything that isn't rightfully mine, that's why I want you to leave _my_ shit alone in the process and go."

"Fine, I'll leave you to whatever you were up to before I arrived." He gave her a little nod and then began to head back to the door while she followed him with her weapon still aimed directly at him, and once he'd made it into the hallway to head back to the longue room, he stopped and looked over at her, asking, "Let me ask you something before I leave. Were you a member of the police force here?"

"I was, until a few months ago. Why?"

"If that's the case, then would you happen to know if there's an armory here, or if this stock is all to be found within the city limits?"

Her brows narrowed, and she gave him a scrutinizing gaze. "There's an armory across the hall actually."

"And have you laid claim to _that_ as well?"

She scoffed as if slightly amused, finally deciding to lower her weapon, though she still held it in her hand rather than putting it on her belt where she was wearing a harness. "It's locked, and there aren't any explosives around here. Besides, explosives would draw a ton of unwanted attention."

"What _kind_ of lock," Wesker asked specifically, as if he were completely uninterested in explosives.

"Keypad, and I don't know the code. No luck trying to break it yet."

Hearing this, Wesker looked down the hallway and suggested, "If that's the case, then perhaps we can use brute force."

It was a few moments later, and the woman had led Wesker to the armory, coming to a stop outside of it and holding out her hand, saying, "This is it. OPD's armory. Not very impressive, is it?"

"Not specifically," Wesker replied, walking toward the door, looking the over sized safe over, inspecting it as he continued, "then again, most find it's hard to impress me in particular to begin with."

"It's a good thing I wasn't trying," the woman muttered, turning to walk away from him to allow him to do whatever he'd wanted to with the armory door while putting her gun back onto her belt. Turning to look over at him, she asked, "So, what was your job in the real world? You use to break into armories for a living?"

She heard him letting a low chuckle as he reached up a hand and tapped the backs of his knuckles against the door in various places around the edges, listening to the sounds it made, replying, "Not precisely, only if necessary."

She lifted a brow behind him and then shrugged a little, folding her arms over her chest - though she had to admit that she was half interested in seeing if this guy could open it or not. As she noticed him tapping his knuckles on the metal door though, she did have to ask, "Why are you tapping on the door, anyway?"

"To find out where it's the most hollow. That should make it easier."

Confused, she added, "Easier to do _what_?"

"This," Wesker replied, lifting an arm back when he'd learned where the best places to hit the door would be, and he pushed his hand forward, slamming his fist into one of the sides of the door with a grunt of effort, using enough force to dent the metal and cause the edge of the doorframe to bend out on one side. The action made the woman jump and stare ahead of herself with wide eyes, but Wesker wasn't precisely done yet. He'd turned and repeated the process to the other side of the door, having to punch it twice in order to make the hinges pop off, and as the metal bolts flew across the room with a loud din and scrape of metal, The woman just stared in a good bit of shock.

But she continued watching as Wesker gripped the bent outward edges like newly formed handles and began to pull as hard as he could. The door didn't come completely out on the first try, but on the second, he managed to heave it away from the wall completely, lifting the heavy metal door into the air and upwards, his eyes glowing behind his shades. As he turned to see the look of disbelief on the woman's face, he said, "You may want to step about five feet to the left."

She blinked, and then gasped when he tossed the door back, moving out of the way to let the thing land with a loud clatter against the floor. Once he'd let go of it, he took in a deep breath and then looked over at the woman, saying, "As I'd said, brute force can come in handy from time to time."

She really didn't know what to think, and the look on her face said as much. Wesker just smirked over it, then turned and stepped inside of the armory, looking about at the guns that were there to be had. She was right, it wasn't completely impressive. Mostly a few shotguns, standard issue handguns - which he'd take any bullets he found for those - and a few rifles. It was apparent that the armory had already been raided as well because a lot of it was a mess.

As he'd been doing an eye-based inventory, the woman walked up to the door slowly, and he heard the question, "How the fuck did you do that?"

Wesker scoffed in amusement, reaching for a box of ammo as he replied on a very flat tone of voice, "I eat my Wheaties."

Wheaties? She stared, looking from him and to the door, then back again. "You're-," and she stopped suddenly when he interrupted her.

"There's more to some people in this world than meets the eye, my dear, _I_ happen to be one of those people. You wanted the armory door open and now it is, which helps the both of us. But indeed, what I find even more impressive than that is the way you're handling it."

"What?"

Wesker turned to face her finally, having just reloaded his handgun and he snapped the chamber shut, then put it back into his trench coat. It was in the dim lighting the armory offered that the woman noticed the glow of his eyes behind his shades before he gave her an explanation of what it was he found to be so impressive. "You didn't run away screaming, though I gather you wouldn't, considering you've survived in a town of about fifteen hundred people for two weeks, enduring attacks and sneaking about past the undead to survive."

Despite what he'd just said, she only stared, saying in regards to his eyes, "You're not human, are you?"

"Perhaps not," he replied lowly, tugging a duffle bag down from a shelf in the armory in order to collect what he wanted while adding the question, "does that worry you?"

She gave him a look that said he was crazy. "What the hell do _you_ think? And if you can do that, then _why_ do you need weapons to begin with?"

"Clever question," he stated plainly, putting several boxes of ammo into the duffle he'd grabbed before he responded. "Despite my unique abilities, I'm still a walking meal to the monsters so freely wondering the world now, and I can be harmed just as you can, even if it would take more to bring me down than it would you. Better to take them out from afar than be eaten alive, don't you agree?"

That made sense she guessed, and she took in a sigh of breath as if trying to deal with the situation. "Yeah, I guess so," she muttered, then she turned and looked at the door suddenly, her hand going to her weapon.

The look caught Wesker's attention, and he listened carefully, but didn't hear anything in specific. The woman seemed to lower her own guard after a moment as well, like she'd only thought she'd heard something, which told him she was alert - still keeping her ears open even after what she'd just witnessed taking place with him and being bombarded by absorbing the fact that he was something a little more than human.

She'd definitely come in handy on the road to Dallas. Who knew what kinds of things he could use her for. Honestly, the possibilities were endless, and he could use an ace up his sleeve just about then.

"Was there anything in this armory that you wanted?"

Glancing over at him after he'd asked her the question, she turned and stepped back toward the door, looking at everything inside. "Yeah, I'll take some of the ammo, don't have much use for rifles though."

"You should probably start packing things up to take with you in that case."

At the mention of those words, she asked him, "Take with me?"

"Well, you _do_ plan on leaving here, correct?"

"Maybe, on my own time. For now things are fine here though."

"Hmm," Wesker drew out as if not completely convinced. "But for how long, and are you sure you will know when you're about to wear out your welcome? You strike me as a survivalist, and I've known my fair share."

"So are you trying to suggest I go with _you_ then?"

"Perhaps I am," he said simply, loading up a shotgun with rounds before pulling the pump to make sure the gun was ready to go. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not interested in picking up survivors on my way into Dallas. Frankly, I don't care to see to it that as many people survive as possible. That's not my problem."

She watched him in thought, replying, "Well, we have _that_ much in common. But if that's so, then why are you asking me to come along?"

"As I'd said," he started, putting his shotgun back into the duffle as he turned to face her completely, "you strike me as a survivalist, and you don't appear to be stupid thus far. It would only up both of our chances of actually making it to Dallas if we departed together."

"You make a good point at least," she gave, then thought about it for a moment. Wesker lifted a brow, watched her considering it, supposing she had some heavy trust issues - not that he could blame her for that. After a moment, she finally told him, "It's not easy to accept though. I mean, if you're not human, then what the hell are you? How the hell do I know it's not a stupid mistake to go with you?"

Wesker's question was quick and to the point. "Just what do you think I'm going to do once we're on the road?"

At the question, her brow perked. "You just tore a metal door off of an armory. I don't really see a limit to what you _couldn't_ do."

"True as that may be, if I were intent on hurting you, then why have I not already done so?"

She pursed her lips over the question, then sighed out her breath as if annoyed that he'd made a good point. As she did this, Wesker smirked and tugged up the bag he'd just packed and began to walk towards her as he asked her, "So what do you say, Miss...?," before waiting patiently on his answer.

There was a gas station three blocks away from the police station. It was being viewed under a scope from about three buildings over now, zoomed in on, and watched carefully. No sign of movement had been made for a while, so it stood out heavily when a two door sedan suddenly pulled into the parking lot.

The blue car was centered on as the driver's side door opened, and Albert Wesker stood from behind the wheel. As he came into the view of the scope, he began to look about the area for a moment, then turned his head and slowly began to scan up and toward the direction of the scope that was trained on him in that moment, which prompted the user to duck out of sight completely.

Drawing the scope down, they pulled a device out of a pouch and flipped it open, pressing a few buttons on the sleek black surface of the device.

"Wesker?"

Wesker had gotten out of the recently hot wired car and looked about because he had the oddest sense of being watched, and he normally didn't just ignore that sense. When he heard his new traveling companion's voice asking his name, the woman who'd introduced herself as Cecilia Chase at the police station earlier, he looked over at her and lifted a brow.

"Yes, Miss Chase?"

"Are we going to get the gas?"

Without a verbal response, he grabbed the door and shut it, then went to the back of the car. Unloading the empty canister's in the back seat, he handed one to Cecilia and then shut the door. He had a peculiar feeling in that moment, knowing that he wasn't alone somehow, and it had nothing to do with the female he'd talked into riding along with him.

Rain had started to pick up again, slicking the pavement beneath their feet down enough to glisten a slight reflection back at them as they walked toward the gas pumps, and as Cecilia stopped at one pump, Wesker went to another, checking the nozzle to see what kind of fuel it carried inside of it.

His began to run, but Cecilia's was empty, and she let the nozzle hang while she carried the cannister to the next in search of fuel. It was while she'd been moving to that pump that she stopped walking, and Wesker looked up and across the lot with her in the direction that the loud wail of metal under pressure sounding had come from.

When they did, they both saw an abandoned town car being lifted into the air and then stalling as it was held high for just a moment, right before it was thrown from across the lot. It hadn't been thrown directly at _them_ in specific, but instead, thrown at the car they'd driven into the neighborhood in, the car that Wesker had hot wired outside of the police station in order to give them both a faster trek outside of town and back to his truck again.

The thrown car careened through the falling rain to smash down into the blue, two door sedan, and crushed the top of the vehicle in completely, doing a good bit of damage to the entire frame of the car as well. Glass shattered out of the windows and onto the pavement, making loud screeches of metal in the process - enough to attract every zombie around for two or three blocks more than likely. Wesker looked in the direction of the monster that had thrown it, already knowing what he'd see - the same Tyrant he'd been running into on and off for the past two weeks now.

The creature had sickly greyish skin with large black eyes that were somewhat sunken into his skull, and he wore a long black trench coat, not unlike the T-103 model. Different from that model, however, was the fact that this one had claws, even in this form, long claws on each finger that were indeed sharp. Wesker could only wonder what other surprises it might have had up its sleeves.

But he had no time to consider that just then. He heard Cecilia asking, "What in the _fucking hell_ is that!"

Wesker glanced to the side when he heard another sound, that of zombies attracted to the area by the noises that had been made, ambling toward the area through the rain, and he lamented to Cecilia, "Bad news is what. We may have to call this collection off short."

"I'm all up for that plan," came her response as she saw the zombies heading into the area.

Before much more could be said, the Tyrant took the offensive and began to charge toward them, or more specifically, toward Wesker, through the now pouring rain.

Time for that old survival instinct to kick in.


	9. Mistaken

_Chapter 8 - Mistaken_

_November 30__th__, 2007_

_State Highway 9, Colorado_

_6:27 PM_

It'd been smooth sailing in the hummer for the past few hours since Chris had picked up Regan and her daughter, Shannon, from the home near I-25. They'd only stopped once to refuel the vehicle, but then they'd continued on and hadn't stopped for a good while since. Shannon had climbed into the backseat eventually in order to play with Dutch - who seemed happy for the attention - and eventually, she'd fallen asleep with the dog curled over her lap.

Regan peered into the backseat, thinking it was the most adorable sight she'd ever laid eyes on - especially when adorable sights were rare in the world these days it seemed - and she took it in for several long moments, smiling at them both, before she sat back again and looked through the windshield. The sky had become overcast the further south they'd gone, but it was only drizzling currently, and Chris wanted to drive until the last bit of light was drawn out of the sky and he'd found a good place to stop for the evening.

He cursed daylight savings time for this reason. It was getting dark earlier and earlier everyday, further taking away from time he could be spending traveling to get to Dallas, but he'd just have to deal with it, and do things as well as he could. After all, traveling at night would be extremely dangerous, and it was best to sit somewhere and wait until morning, only move during those hours if you absolutely had to.

When Regan had turned around in her seat again, he glanced back to see Shannon with Dutch, and half of his lips quirked up in a little smirk before he looked back at the road. She was probably exhausted, the poor kid. He was even more appreciative that Dutch was there now. The dog would probably help the child to cope with this situation more than they alone could do while they were out there on the road.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he heard Regan saying, interrupting his thoughts.

Driving around a curve and keeping his eyes on the road, Chris asked, "What's that?"

"Back at the farm house," Regan started, "you said you'd killed your fair share of monsters, and you seem to know more about them than any normal person. I know the organization you said you're a member of deals with things like this, but just how long _have_ you been doing this?"

Chris let out a low breath as he thought back, still watching the road. Letting the wheel slip beneath his fingers so the hummer would continue on a straight path after turning slightly left with the road, he replied, "Longer than I care to admit."

Regan glanced over at him, guessing he'd had some bad experiences before - not that this situation was ever a good thing, but bad experiences in specific for him. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I was one of the investigators sent to the Spencer Estate in the Arklay Mountains when this all began, as far as we know."

Quirking a curious brow, Regan asked, "Spencer Estate? What's that?"

Chris didn't expect her to know the name - people were much more familiar with the Raccoon City incident that had gone so public. So he asked her, "You know about Raccoon City?"

"Oh God yes," she replied, sounding a bit unnerved by the memory. "Is that where it was?"

"That's where the outbreak started, before the city got infected about two months later. I was working on a special police unit back then, called S.T.A.R.S., and we were dispatched there to investigate reports of cannibalism." When he said that particular word, Regan's green eyes went a slight bit wide, her brows raising as if she knew what _that_ meant. Chris saw the expression from the corner of his own brown eyes, and then finished by saying, "Yeah, same as what's happening now. Ever since I've been trying to put a stop to it."

Regan's brows furrowed as she considered that. "The outbreak in Raccoon was just over ten years ago now." Glancing back over at him once she'd had the thought, she lifted a brow. "That's kind of surprising."

"What?"

"You don't look like you'd be that old," she replied, smirking in amusement.

"Well, I feel that old," he said, also amused over her comment. "Especially after everything that's happened."

"I couldn't really imagine honestly, well," she amended, glancing back out of the windows, "then again, maybe I can considering the past few weeks with Shannon."

Chris knew what she meant exactly, knew the kind of world she'd been thrust into with this turn in human history. Experiencing the way the world had wound up, especially with a child to look after had to be hellacious - maybe even more so than what he'd gone through in the Spencer Estate. He didn't have kids, didn't have to worry about one back then, only trained partners, so he could only imagine what his first experiences might've been like had he been stuck trying to make sure a son or daughter survived. Regan seemed like the kind of mother who would do what she had to in order to keep her child safe so far, though time would only tell on that matter, but he got the feeling that she hadn't had an easy time trying to get as far as she had.

It was then that he decided to aske her, "You said you were in Rapid City when this all started?" He saw her nodding her head, and asked, "When did you leave?"

"Oh," she thought for a second, "I don't remember, the moment my neighbor tried to eat Shannon, whatever day that was. I loaded her into the car and took off for Edgemont to stay with her foster parents."

The term confused Chris a bit. "Foster parents?"

"Yeah," she drew out somewhat slowly, shrugging a shoulder, "it's a long story. Let's just say that they weren't there when we arrived, at least, not the Clyde and Linda we'd known before."

Chris got a sorrowful expression on his face, but sadly, tales like that were all too common where the T Virus was concerned. Still, he was a little curious about why Shannon had foster parents, and wondered if Regan might've lost custody of her daughter for a short while for some reason. But he decided that now wasn't the time to ask, and he stayed on topic instead. "I'm sorry," he told her in an almost professional manner, and glanced over to see Regan shaking her head slowly.

"Thanks, Chris, but it was a lot harder for Shannon to accept than it was for me. That's what made it so difficult." She lifted her head up to look out at the darkening sky over the landscape and continued speaking. "From there, I kept moving, trying to listen in on whatever broadcasts I could find on the radio, the television, but TV seemed to be mostly static before this even started," she mused aloud, giving him a confused look.

Hearing her saying that, Chris furrowed his brows. He hadn't known about the televisions going down like she'd said before the outbreaks had started in specific, but he could only imagine something with the satellite signals was getting messed up, and for a moment, he wondered if whoever was behind this - probably Wesker - had not only attacked the world with a biological virus, but also attacked computers with the technological kind. It wouldn't surprise him anyway, but damned if that wouldn't take an extreme amount of effort and some damned smart computer hackers.

Still, if anyone was able to organize such a thing, it would be Albert Wesker. Chris attempted to push all thoughts out of his head over Wesker however when Regan finished what she'd been saying.

"Anyway, when I found out about the havens, I picked the closest one and started heading there."

Chris nodded his head, knowing what she'd meant. He then shared what he'd done at first in a little more detail. "I tried to find out as much as I could as well. People in Pinedale were panicking, but that doesn't surprise me, given how small a place it was. Television wasn't working for me either, mostly just static. The first place I'd headed was the local police station, and only to find out it'd been deserted already except for a few walking corpses. So I raided their armory, took what I could find as fast as possible, and then tried to help as many people as I could. I spent most of the night trying to get everyone to safety, but there were too many for me to really help being just one person. In fact, the people almost seemed more violent than the zombies did when the group I'd come across tried to jumped me for my weapons and steal my hummer, getting themselves killed in the process."

Regan continued listening intently as he went on, "I'd already seen a newspaper by then entailing what was going on, so I decided my best bet would be to get somewhere that I could either contact someone I knew and get an extraction, or just make my own way."

"Damn," Regan drew out lowly, looking down for a moment in thought over that. "I can't say that really surprises me, especially when people are that scared. You tried to help them though, so you did what you could." She glanced back up and out of the window with a deep breath, adding, "Not many people would've tried to help at all. Pandemonium is just as infectious as this virus is apparently."

Chris had to agree with that. He'd seen civilians freaking out before, and when it came to the general mob, fear was foremost on everyone's thoughts. So it wasn't hard for a large group to succumb to violent behavior in the name of protecting themselves - even to the point of turning on each other. Lots of people liked to preach about having faith in humanity, that in times of crisis, a genuine soul would show through. But Chris had seen so much darkness before that he sometimes wondered if panicking people were any different than infected ones considering how they liked to consume one another - just on a different level than the virus made them do. Not everyone acted that way, but several would, and he'd had the misfortune of running into them.

As he'd considered it, Regan added the question, "Do you have any family in Dallas that you know of?"

"Well, my uncle is a General in the US Military, so he would've gotten my aunt and left with her immediately, as soon as he knew something was up. I'd say the chances are good that they're there," Chris nodded. "I have a little sister too, named Claire, who I'm hoping made it. She's no stranger to this kind of thing either. I left Raccoon before the outbreaks started there, but she went into town to look for me and damned near got herself killed."

Hearing this, Regan cringed, "That sucks."

"Yeah, and I blamed myself for it, but I didn't want to tell her where I'd gone so I could keep her safe. Guess that backfired though." After a moment of thought and a deep breath, Chris went on to say, "She's tough though. She's probably in Dallas right now wondering about me."

Regan smiled when he said that so optimistically, glancing over at him as she commented, "I'll look forward to getting to meet them in Dallas then. I mean, you know women are smarter than men anyway, right? So if you've made it this far, then she's gotta be there waiting on your slow ass already."

Chris grinned over the way she'd put that, knowing she was teasing to lighten the mood, and thankfully it was working. "Probably," he agreed, "I can only imagine the first words out of her mouth will be 'what took you so long?'," he informed Regan honestly. He could just hear Claire saying that in his head right then and there.

Chris had started to roll down his window just a slight bit. It'd been a while since he'd smoked one, and being idle tended to get a smoker to light up faster than a lot of activity did. Regan had given him a pack out of the carton she had with her, as well as offering a lighter from a pack she'd looted from a gas station about two weeks ago, but he'd showed her his Zippo, so she didn't bother with it.

Lighting the cigarette and taking a drag before tugging it from his lips, he continued eyeing the roadways for a good place to park as the sky outside drew darker, and Regan picked up on his slowing speed, glancing at the speedometer quietly for a moment.

"Looking for some place to bunker down for the night?"

"Yeah," Chris replied, "before it gets too dark and I end up parking in the middle of monster world without knowing it."

"Open area?"

"That's what I try to aim for, or a place I can get out of easily that might offer shielding from one side."

With a nod, Regan glanced into the backseat when she heard Shannon muttering a little bit, and she asked Chris, "You got anything to use as a blanket?"

"Not that I can think of in the hummer," he told her, pulling onto the side of the road beneath the cover of a few nearby trees, adding, "besides, you can go get some rest in the RV, there's a bed in there, and it's a lot warmer."

"True," Regan nodded her head, turning back to look around at the scenery for a moment quietly. Mostly open landscapes with a few trees here and there. She knew there were a lot of national forests surrounding the area, so spotting an open place to park could've been a little difficult. Still, the area was open enough to be able to see anything coming long before it got there if you were watching, so Regan knew this was probably the best place of any.

"I have to say I feel fortunate, I mean even more than I did before."

Chris had gone for his keys when she'd said that, and he glanced over at her to ask while she'd put her things back into the bag, "Why's that?"

"Well, after what you've told me about how much experience you have, it makes me feel lucky you came along and decided to help us out."

Chris gave her a little smile, then nodded his head, "Well, I'm just glad you didn't turn out like the group back in Pinedale, willing to gun me down to take my things and chance it on your own."

Chris tugged the strap of his shotgun over his shoulder and Regan gave him a nod of her head, able to understand why someone would be glad for such a thing. She then pushed herself up a bit and turned around, reaching into the backseat for Shannon to nudge her shoulder just a bit.

"Shannon, wake up, sweety, we're going to the RV for the night."

As she did this, Chris opened his door and then looked outside before climbing out of his vehicle and shutting the door behind himself. He gave the area a good look while walking around to the passenger's side and opening the door over there for Regan who was busy getting her daughter and the bag she'd had with her, not really seeing much of anything threatening on the way there that had him thinking he should drive a little further down the road before he parked for the night.

Regan thanked Chris for getting the door open for her while she climbed out with Shannon, and Chris looked over at his dog and said, "Come on, Dutch." The canine responded by jumping over the front seat and then hopped down and out of the car.

Chris shut the door for the two ladies with him and walked to the RV while Dutch sniffed around the area. Once the door to the RV was open, Chris waited while Regan climbed the steps to go inside and he told her as she went, "I'll be in there in a minute. I want to make sure the hummer's fueled up so we can leave first thing in the morning."

"Alright," Regan nodded, carrying the still groggy Shannon into the vehicle. "You don't need help?"

"Naw," Chris shook his head, "I'm fine. Dutch'll let me know if anything's wrong."

Regan looked a little unconvinced, but she nodded her head and Chris shut the door behind the two and went to do like he'd told them he was going to - as well as to take a leak.

It didn't take him long to fuel the hummer up, screwing the cap back onto the canister before he went to relieve himself, and Dutch had done the same before sniffing around once more, only stopping every once and again with perked ears as if he might've heard something before continuing on with his nose. Chris was mostly paying attention to the trees himself, getting the feeling that if anything came at them, it would be from that direction, but fortunately, nothing ever did.

He climbed back into the RV with Dutch to find Regan in the very back, settling Shannon onto the bed while asking her if she wanted anything.

"I've gotta pee," the little girl whispered, and Chris heard her despite the distance between them.

"If you need to go, you can use the bathroom in the back. There should be water in there for a bath too, I'll just have to turn the water heater back on."

Regan and Shannon both looked over at him with raised brows - almost a mirror of one another in a way. Apparently the promise of a warm shower was like that of gold judging by the looks on their faces, so Chris smiled and went to one of the cabinet doors as he told them both, "Go ahead, I'll just keep a watch out up here."

Chris hadn't used the facilities much himself, definitely never used the RV to take a leak, only used it every now and again to clean up and if more relief was needed than pissing could offer, well, the toilet was a plus. He'd been trying to conserve, so Regan and Shannon had plenty of water to take a bath with.

While they were busy, he sat behind the wheel of the RV, staring outside, thinking. Dutch was on the couch, sniffing at the bag that Regan had settled down on it, and when Chris noticed, he suddenly remembered the cans of Alpo she'd taken from the home he'd found her in.

"Shit, that's right," he muttered, standing up to go and pull one of the can's out. Dutch got up quickly at the sight of it, waiting patiently for Chris to dump the contents into a bowl and settle it down in front of him before he started chomping away happily. Chris smirked, grabbing another bowl from the cabinet to fill with water before he realized he was a little hungry himself.

Before he could go and look through the food though, he heard the bathroom door opening followed by Shannon asking, "Can we have the cheddar pretzels and some Little Debbie snack cakes for desert?"

"Hmm, let's see if that's what Chris wants first," Regan replied, and when she told Shannon that, the little girl left the bathroom and headed into the kitchen area where Chris was standing, dressed differently now in a white t-shirt with little blue flowers on it and a pair of blue pants that matched in color. Amusingly enough, she'd had her mother wrap her hair up in a towel, which made her look like a tiny grown up.

"Chris, Mama wants to know if cheddar pretzels sounds good. We got a _big_ bag of it."

Chris had spotted the bag when he'd gone for the dog food, and he smiled at her, nodding, "That all we're having?"

"Little Debbie snacks?"

"I mean for the main course."

"Um," Shannon drew out, spinning around and heading over to the bag. Chris watched her opening it, tugging out the pretzels to settle aside before she went to look at the other contents, and then she said, "Oh, we've got tuna." She tugged the can out and peered at it thoughtfully.

Regan came walking around the corner, her hair a mass of wet red clumps she was working free with a brush, her own clothing changed to a grey tank top and a pair of black pants, and Shannon held the can up, asking, "Mama, do we got any bread?"

"I think we might have a few slices, and it's do we _have_, Squirt," Regan corrected, which made Shannon grumble while taking the bag of pretzels with the can of tuna and walking toward the kitchen counter.

"Mama, everyone's a zombie, I don't think they care much how I talk."

"People in Dallas might," Regan pointed out. "Once we get there you'll be going back to school you know."

"Maaan," Shannon drew out, looking over to see Regan grabbing the slices of bread they had left.

"We've get three slices, enough to make three half sandwiches."

"I'll pass," Chris spoke up, "I like tuna but not all that much, so I'll just take more pretzels."

"Okay," Shannon nodded, taking the bag from her mother to open it. Regan smirked at her, watching the little girl working to make the food. Shannon liked to do those kinds of things because, as she'd told her mother, it made her feel safer knowing that her Mama could continue to watch out for monsters without being distracted. Regan didn't mind letting her do it either because she felt it was a distraction from everything they'd been through, so it was good for Shannon.

While she was preoccupied, Regan went to put the bag away and she glanced outside the front windows every now and again - just as Chris had been - watching to make sure nothing was heading toward them. Chris had also gone into the back to look outside from that direction, and when Regan walked into the bedroom area to pile the clothing on the floor that she and her daughter had just changed out of, she looked the pile over and said, "Well, if I could get my hands on some detergent or something, and you had a big bowl, I could wash these."

Chris glanced over from the window he'd just looked out of, asking, "Are those all the clothing you two have?"

"No, I was just considering it aloud, incase we need it."

With a nod of his head, Chris turned to face the woman completely, saying, "Dirty clothes are the furthest thing from my mind right now."

"Yeah," Regan drew out, looking up at him, a little smirk on her face. "You don't strike me as the kind of guy who ever considers laundry, at least, not until he has to. But, speaking of what I know is on your mind, how's watch going to be set up? How did you do it before we came along?"

"Honestly, I slept in the hummer. It was easier for me to get to the wheel if I needed to. I'll probably go back out there later."

Regan narrowed a brow at him, her lips pursing. "Isn't that more dangerous?"

"Not if I take Dutch. He usually smells trouble coming, woke me up one day last week before a couple of zombies could get the drop on me."

Regan let out a little sigh of breath, considering it all. "I was using my rifle in the house you found us in. Had her set up in the bedroom on the second floor. The scope has night vision capabilities." She then turned and looked up at the ceiling, eventually spotting a hatch where there was a folded ladder, and she waved a hand at it, saying, "That could be used as a sniper point."

"Yeah," Chris drew out while looking the hatch over in consideration before he added, "but if you've got your head exposed, something could come up from behind you. Still, it might work when we need it."

Regan looked away from the hatch and over at him, saying, "Well, I'm just not completely sure I like the idea of you spending the night out in the hummer."

Chris guessed she was worried he'd be an easier target out there, but before he could remind her of how many situations like this he'd been through, Shannon came toward the bedroom area and announced, "The food's fixed, guys!"

"Alright," Regan nodded with a smile, turning to see that Shannon had settled the sandwiches on the counter on plates with helpings of pretzels next to them - except for one plate which was a double serving. Chris wanted to laugh, but he could tell Shannon was trying to be thoughtful, so he just smiled and headed over, taking a single handful of the pretzels before popping one into his mouth.

Shannon had put her plate onto the coffee table where the sectional couch was settled, and she thanked her mother for a can of soda that was handed to her before she took a bite of the food. Dutch had settled himself next to Shannon on the floor, and while Shannon chewed and swallowed, she looked over at Chris and asked him, "Are you really gonna spend the night in the RV?"

Chris looked from Shannon to Regan and then back again, saying, "Yeah, I think that's the best idea."

Shannon didn't look convinced, replying with the words, "But something might sneak up on you out there."

"I know that," Chris replied firmly, his tone confident. "But if something comes this way, I'd rather it be drawn to me first than to you two."

"Chris," Regan piped up, then she grumbled. "Alright, I know, you've had a lot of experience dealing with this, but I just don't like the thought of that. I mean you said there was some other kind of...," she trailed off, not wanting Shannon to hear it, not wanting her daughter to know there were monsters out there that were faster and stronger than the Zombies they'd encountered had been. It would just scare Shannon to tell her, so she shook her head, asking, "Do you really think the windows are strong enough?"

Shannon gave her mother a peculiar look, but got the feeling this was something Regan wouldn't explain because it had to do with adults and that kind of stuff. But she listened intently anyway when Chris, who seemed to understand what Regan had been hinting at, replied, "I think I should have my ass in gear long before anything like that happens."

"Before what happens?," Shannon drew out in confusion.

"Nothing, Shannon," Regan said on that tone of voice that would inform a child not to question the topic further. She then gave Shannon that motherly eye, and Shannon sighed, deciding to continue eating without any question.

Seeing her daughter was thankfully listening, Regan looked back at Chris and told him, "I just don't want to see anyone else getting hurt, or for Shannon to, that's all."

Chris could understand that well enough since it wasn't something he wanted to see happening either, and after a few moments considering it while chewing on a few more pretzels, he decided to stay with them in the RV, settle himself on the couch and get a little rest, instead of venturing out to the hummer again. After all, if something was around, it might pick up on all of the back and forth between the two vehicles, so maybe Regan was right about that. Maybe it would be better to stay put and stay silent. After all, he hadn't really gone from the hummer to the RV and back in the darkness like this before, so staying put didn't seem like such a bad idea.

"Alright," he nodded, "I'll stay in the RV for the night. Hell, the couch would probably be more comfortable anyway."

Regan smiled, and Shannon did as well, though Shannon's smile was much more innocent to the whole matter at hand since she'd been a little confused over what they'd been discussing to begin with. She was just happy Chris wasn't going to go back out there where she knew it was dangerous.

Chris went to sit down on the couch, deciding he'd just have to make sure to look outside periodically throughout the night and keep himself wary of what could've been going on out there, and Regan informed him that she would help along the way - after all, she wasn't a stranger to keeping out a watch if what she'd said about keeping a position as a sniper in that home was any indication.

After they'd hit the sack to get a little rest, Chris did fall asleep, and he could only hope that he'd made the right choice in staying in the RV.

_December 1__st__, 2007_

_7:21 AM_

Chris hadn't made the right choice.

He'd woken up on and off throughout the night to check about, looking out windows, making sure things were secure, and Regan had done the same - he'd gotten up at the same time she had once or twice, and she looked, from what he could tell in the darkness, as if she'd been sleeping hard, or hell, maybe she always looked like that when she was resting.

Dutch hadn't been completely stationary himself, he'd gone sniffing about from time to time, listening, generally appearing to stay alert to things. When the morning came around, while it was still dark outside, Chris woke up completely and looked at his wrist watch, deciding he'd probably slept better that night than he had since this had all happened.

Sadly, the enjoyment of realizing that much had been ruined when Dutch started growling, which prompted Chris to look out of the front window of the RV. He kept himself out of sight by using the passenger's side chair in the front to crouch behind, but what he saw wasn't a pleasant sight.

There were five zombies outside surrounding the hummer, three of them standing stationary on the passenger's side of the car, one a little further out, having ambled to a stop, and another was on the driver's side, which was the one that worried him the most. From where he was sitting, it looked like a Crimson Head, and Chris cussed under his breath.

"I knew I should've slept in the hummer," he muttered aloud to himself, then glanced back when he heard the mattress squeaking a bit followed by the bathroom door shutting. Chris shook his head, pushing himself back to settle on the couch again while he checked his weapons, and then he turned and looked out of the window on the wall behind him, unable to see anything on that side of the RV aside from one of the same zombies he'd already seen a moment beforehand.

He then went across the way, staying low in a crouch to keep from being seen and sought out, and looked through the blind covered window on the driver's side in the kitchen area, and what he saw from there made him cuss. Two more zombies were ambling below him down the road, heading along the side of the RV and toward the hummer, making a total of eight of the infected monsters surrounding them now.

Thankfully, none of them seemed to realize where the meal was just yet, and Chris knew that he was definitely going to be unloading some ammo before they could get out of there. He couldn't use the hatch on the roof with Regan's rifle however - he knew he wouldn't be able to see them from that vantage point so far up toward the front of the RV where the hummer was parked. But that hatch _would _come in handy for him to get the drop on them.

Regan came walking back into the living area of the RV to see Chris crouching with his back against the counter in the kitchen, and when he looked over at her, his grim expression prompted her to ask, "What?"

"You wanna see the reason I wanted to sleep in the hummer?"

He reached over for her arm and pulled her toward himself and into a crouch so that she could see out of the front window without being easily spotted. Regan looked outside to see the zombies there, and her lips opened with that expression that said she fully understood the gravity of the situation.

When Chris saw the look, he gave her all of the information he had gathered since he'd woken up. "There's eight out there in total, two more creeping up the side of the RV right now behind us. Get a _good_ look at the one on the driver's side, Regan, notice anything different about him?"

Regan let her eyes scan toward the driver's side while she fought down her guilt for this situation arising, spying the zombie, seeing how red the skin looked, seeing the claws on one of its hands, and she sucked in a breath. "I see it."

"Yeah, now I'm gonna have to get out there and fight them off," Chris muttered out, apparently unhappy with the situation, "and use up ammo when I could've just driven away if I'd already been in the hummer and not have had to worry about it."

Regan settled further down into a crouch, her head bowed forward, her brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, Chris," she said softly, taking a deep breath. "I...I was mistaken, I should've listened to you."

Chris could definitely say he was irritated, but he didn't place the blame _solely_ on Regan's shoulders - after all, he could've listened to his own experience as well, but he hadn't. He could also tell she felt badly for it, after all, it ultimately put her daughter in danger, so she more than likely was blaming herself. Neither of them could've known this would happen, especially if the zombies had just gotten there. Regan just didn't have as much experience as he did, and he'd made the mistake of not listening to his gut for once.

So with a sigh of breath, he told her, "Just do that from now on, alright?"

"Yeah," she nodded, almost feeling too ashamed to look at him. But she forced herself to, asking, "So what do we do? I put us in this situation, there _has_ to be something I can do to back you up and help."

Chris cocked his shotgun and thought about that for a moment. He could always leave Dutch with Shannon, the dog would keep her company and try to protect her if he could, so that was a good thing, and it did free Regan up to offer him back up if he needed it.

"You didn't put us in this situation, I ignored my instincts and stayed in here, so it's just as much my fault as it is yours. But I think the hatch on the roof is our best shot."

Hearing that, Regan asked, "That would keep us out of immediate danger."

"No, it'd keep _me_ out," he corrected her. "I want you to stay here. I'll go up there and take out the crimson head first, then shot the others as quickly as possible."

Regan took in a breath, remembering how her disagreement with him from the night before had gotten them into this situation, so she knew she needed to listen to him now. "Alright," she nodded, "do you need my rifle?"

"No, I doubt we'd be able to see it from there, and if it spots us first, it'll move too fast to be taken out that way, even if I move on my stomach across the roof. It's too risky."

"Fuck," Regan cussed, looking back outside to see that there hadn't been much movement since they'd been talking. She continued listening to Chris as he went on as well.

"I'll try to get a head shot with my handgun," he informed her, "you just stay in here. If I get the one on the driver's side, it won't be too hard to take the rest out from there."

She gave him a nod of her head in understanding, and he moved past to make his way toward the hatch, standing and reaching up for the ladder in order to unfold it.

"Mama?," they heard coming from the bedroom area around the corner of the wall that separated it from the living area, and Regan looked back, warning Shannon to stay where she was.

"Stay in the bed for now, Shannon, I'll come to get you in a minute."

Shannon got quiet, knowing what those words meant, and Chris looked at Dutch after he'd pulled the ladder down, saying, "Go in the back, boy. Keep Shannon company."

Dutch stared at Chris for a moment as if letting the command register, then turned to head into the bedroom and jumped onto the bed, settling himself down with Shannon, who they heard asking if he were scared of something. With a little sigh of breath, Regan looked back at Chris who climbed up the ladder toward the hatch, and he pushed it open quietly, peering outside with his weapon ready. When he saw nothing, he looked back down and said, "I'm shutting the hatch behind me, I don't want anything to get in incase I miss. If I don't miss, I'll take the rest out, then get into the hummer and take off. When I'm sure we're out of danger, I'll stop driving."

Regan managed a nod as Chris climbed up onto the roof of the RV, and she watched the hatch shutting behind him. When it did, she cussed out the word, "Fuck," too softly for Shannon to hear, then went to grab her handgun - just incase - then looked back out at the front of the RV again, staying low where she knew she wouldn't be seen by any of the monsters lurking about now.

She could hear Chris making his way across the roof, the sound not too loud at all, could tell he was being as silent as possible to do what he'd said he would. While she watched the stronger zombie in particular, she heard a shot go off and saw the Crimson Head's body falling to the ground without a head, a mist of blood floating through the air over him. Chris managed to get the bastard on the first shot - and draw the other's attention in the process.

They began to turn and move toward the RV, and Regan heard more shots being fired and saw more of their heads coming off as this happened, moving more closely toward the front of the RV to watch two more of the bodies falling to the ground outside. It was then that she saw Chris climbing down the front of the RV and onto the roof of the hummer. He couldn't get to the driver's side door just yet because the other two zombies on that side were trying to get to him currently, one of them reaching up to the roof of the car toward him while the other was making its way in fast.

He used the bottom of his shoe to kick one of them in the head, making it fall backwards, before he shot it with his handgun, then altered his aim and shot the second one, proving he was a very practiced marksman when he got both of them in the head. Regan let out her breath inside of the RV while Chris climbed down and opened the door of the hummer, making his way inside to start her up. But she didn't move a muscle until the RV was moving, only then allowing herself to tell Shannon that everything was alright.

After all, she'd already made one mistake that could have cost them their lives, she didn't want to make anymore. But she swore to herself she wouldn't do that again. She'd make sure that, in the future, no matter how bad something sounded, she'd listen to Chris's suggestions. In the very least, it would keep her from feeling like the complete ass she felt like now.


	10. Theory

_Chapter 9 - Theory_

_U.S. 50, Colorado_

_November 30__th__, 2007_

_9:45 PM_

The Colorado highway was just as stark and empty as it typically had been even before the outbreaks. Hills and valleys, plains, trees, all of it stretching on for as far as the eye could see. There wasn't much of anything to look at, no urban areas or city districts, and that was all fine and well as far as the two people traveling were concerned. After leaving Olathe and the Tyrant who'd threatened them there, Wesker had considered many things regarding the situation, and had answered Cecilia's questions with ease - and a slight bit of lying.

It'd taken them long enough to escape, both of them managing to do so unharmed by blowing up the gas station once they were clear of the mess. A line of gas from one of the working pumps was ignited by a shot from Wesker's Samurai Edge, blowing the zombies away and the Tyrant with them - though he knew better than to think that would be the last he'd see of the creature stalking him now.

Once they were back in Wesker's SUV and leaving town with their weapons and what gas they'd managed to sequester away for themselves in the back of the suburban, the woman he'd decided to take with him had asked once again what the hell they'd just blown away had been.

Wesker decided to give her a round about answer despite the fact that he could have explained in detail what the creature was. All he told her was that 'he'd seen it before', and Cecilia gave him a look that suggested she didn't like that answer. In fact, she _knew_ he was lying, or just generally withholding information from her. After all, she'd seen what he'd done to the armory door, and he appeared to have reflexes like nothing she'd ever seen before, not to mention his eyes glowed.

He wasn't exactly human, that much was obvious, and she knew he understood more about what was going on than just 'I've seen it before'.

So it wasn't really comforting to be in the same vehicle with this man in many instances, even if, from what she could see, he'd been honest about the two of them working to make it to Dallas alive. After all, he'd done what he could at the gas station to warn her of threats and generally be pretty helpful, so Cecilia didn't think the man was out to generally harm her - or at least, it wouldn't make sense for him to do those things and then hurt her later anyway.

But she decided not to question it for now however, because she figured she knew all she needed to for the moment - the monster at the gas station was just as strong as he was, and if there were more of them, she'd be better off defending from a distance while he took up the close combat quarters rather than trying to engage it directly until she knew more of what it was capable of.

For now, she'd have to rely on those methods to get by, and she watched the scenery passing outside of the window while the sun drew down, glad for the peace and quiet, the solace for the currently uninterrupted travel. She'd survived in Olathe for two weeks by herself, worried about danger around every corner, and for these moments in time, she wanted to pretend that nothing bad existed, that there were no monsters hungry for human flesh and blood.

The highway they traveled down now was a smooth enough ride with the barren areas that she dozed off without meaning to where she sat. As it began to get dark, with the woman still dozing across from him, Wesker once again neglected to use his headlights and instead, simply removed his shades after the sun set, using his eyesight to watch out for threats in the dark while they traveled. Like Cecilia, he'd been having throughts of his own.

Someone was following him, and he didn't just mean the Tyrant he'd seen so far. Someone was controlling it perhaps, or maybe there was satellite surveillance pinning him down so the Tyrant would know where he was, but either way, it was just a delay to the inevitable. Whoever was behind this would learn that soon enough. He intended to make them understand the hard way, even if it wasn't necessary to do so.

"Damn," he heard as considered everything, looking over for a moment to see Cecilia waking up.

Half amused, he commented, "Didn't mean to fall asleep, I take it."

"Not really," the woman muttered out, yawning briefly before she rubbed her eyes and sat up straight. "I must have been more tired than I thought," she then added while reaching up to her strawberry blonde hair where she'd tied it into a ponytail in order to tug it free and then retie it on her head again a bit more neatly. As she moved, and her arms shifted, Wesker noticed something in specific as her short sleeve fell up her arm.

It wasn't something he'd been expecting, though it was something he knew could happen. He'd seen it as clear and plain as day, and he was a little surprised by the discovery, but Miss Chase had been bitten already. From the looks of the human shaped bite mark on her arm which he'd seen the likes of enough to point one out a mile away, she'd been bitten nearly two weeks ago now as the wound was scabbed over and healing.

How very interesting indeed.

In his years of research with Umbrella, Wesker had only run into two people who had a natural immunity to the T Virus, one of them being Lisa Trevor, the other a male test subject who'd never exhibited any symptoms after injection, and his name wasn't one that Wesker could recall because he, quite frankly, hadn't paid attention to it. Wesker knew from experience that the Virus didn't have a one hundred percent infection rate as Spencer had wanted it to, no matter how many times they'd mutated the various strains. In the end, the rate of infection was about ninety seven percent at the least depending on the strain of mutation used, leaving a very small margin of error for people who wouldn't become infected due to natural immunities. That was the reason for the various B.O.W.'s created such as the Hunters and the Cerberus - to wipe out whatever was left of the population uninfected by the T Virus.

It would appear that Cecilia was one of those few lucky people who had such an immunity - unless she'd been vaccinated, which Wesker highly doubted. The vaccine had all but been destroyed, what little that was left of it taken in by the US government a little over a month ago now, and beforehand, what little there had been of the vaccine to begin with was only used on military units, particularly those fashioned to deal with bio-terrorism. They'd yet to offer the vaccine up publicly, for varying reasons, and Cecilia may have been on a police force, but that force had been in a small town in the middle of no where, so there was very little chance she'd gotten vaccinated.

Still, Wesker was a researcher at heart, it had been his primary job training, so he never left anything to assumption. He would have to be sure of these things before he got his conclusion, but he _did_ know that if she was in fact immune to the T Virus, she might come in more handy than he'd originally thought - at least, more handy than just getting to Dallas and gaining transport to where he needed to go. Her blood might hold a key to getting back a piece of the power he'd apparently lost.

"It happens," was all Wesker replied to her statement of being more tired than she'd thought. It used to happen to him. He remembered falling asleep once behind his S.T.A.R.S. desk in their office after about a week of what seemed like non-stop shifts, and awakening to a very unpleasant Polaroid laying on his desk - an image he'd taken Chris's lighter to burn. The mystery behind who'd originally taken the picture remained unsolved for him to that day.

She let another little yawn after he'd spoken those words and replied with, "I suppose. Anything fun happen while I was out?"

"Not in the least." Wesker noticed her looking over at him then, her expression a peculiar one, as if she wasn't sure what to think, and he realized it was because he didn't have his shades on. So he commented, "Still wary of me, I see."

She grew quiet for a few moments, taking the sight of him in, and then she shook her head, "Not any less than I was when I watched you pulling the armory door off of its hinges."

"Most people in your situation would appreciate a travel partner who could accomplish such a thing in this type of situation."

"I'm not most people," she informed him plainly in response. "Maybe you're right and I'm lucky you can do all of that, but there has to be a _reason_ you can do all of that. It's that reason that makes me wary."

She watched him smirking just a tiny bit, barely noticeable, before he informed her, "There _is_ a reason for it, Miss Chase, but I doubt that reason will effect you in any way."

"I hope not," she drew out, looking ahead and away from his eyes where she'd been staring. Who knew what his story was. Cecilia _did_ know that this virus had been reported as being a product of Umbrella Incorporated, and that rumors had it they'd done numerous experiments on people in the past. Maybe this man had been a part of those experiments, who knew? But whatever he was, she'd just have to keep her eyes open and stay wary.

For the time being, maybe she could find out exactly what he was capable of, and when she realized he didn't have the headlights on, she asked, "Can you still see without the headlights on?"

"Yes, the lights draw less attention, so it's better to go without them."

Well, now she knew he could see well, and so she asked in addition, "Can you hear just as well as you can see?"

"For more or less," Wesker told her, then glanced in her direction. "Trying to sum me up, are you, Miss Chase?"

_Damn it_. "Maybe I am. Can you really blame me though?"

"Not really," he started, "I would want to know what I could myself. Speaking of," he glanced over at her arm again, asking, "it's apparent you've been bitten sometime within the past few weeks."

Cecilia looked down at her left arm and then at him, replying, "Yeah, not long after this all started. Why?"

Apparently she was completely oblivious to the fact that the virus spread through bites and scratches, so he asked to make sure, "You never became ill?"

"No," she shook her head, "I thought I would when I was bitten, but I just never felt bad, only tired when it was all over with. I guess it's not a guarantee that it'll spread if you're bitten."

Wesker could have begged to differ with just how _much_ of a guarantee that you'd contract the virus if you were bitten, but Cecilia, as he'd thought before, was apparently extremely lucky - or perhaps not if you looked at it the right way. For now, however, he decided to play dumb, and only asked her, "You've never been vaccinated?"

"Do they even _have_ a vaccination for this?"

"They _did_," he informed her, "but whether they still do I'm uncertain. I think there was a bit of trouble with the suppliers if memory serves." Which his memory did serve him, he just didn't think that now was the time to be completely forthcoming with her, not until he knew more for certain.

"Well, if there was, I wish I had been. But no, I was never vaccinated."

"Hmm," Wesker drew out, "then I guess you got lucky."

"Why? You don't think that happens often?"

"I don't think so, no, I think the virus is usually spread fairly quickly through a single bite from what I've seen." _And I would know_.

He heard her letting out a sigh of breath. After she did so, she said, "Then I guess I'll really have to play it safe from now on."

Could it have been a fluke? That was the question that stood out the most. After all, Wesker could definitely benefit from the natural immunity she had against the virus if that's in fact what he was looking at here instead of some random failure for the virus to transfer through a bite wound. While the T Virus didn't have a full infection rate, he did know that bites and scratches had almost a total percentage of transfer from the host to the victim. If it was off, then it was only by about .01 percent - minuscule in probability when compared to the likelihood that she simply bore a natural resistance.

He'd keep that in mind and look for a way to prove his theory. Perhaps, if she proved to be resistant, he might just let her in on a few more details, but only time would tell when it came to that. For now, he was going to continue to play civilian when it came to his knowledge of the events transpiring and just how much insight into the situation he _did_ have, playing his cards carefully as always.

It was a little past 9:45 when they stopped talking for a while, and eventually, they came across a settlement on the side of the road called "Campground Center" which included what looked to be a very remote, very rural home style diner, a small gas station with only two pumps, a convenience store, and a small roadside hotel. Just before they'd reached the tiny business section lining the roadway, Cecilia had asked if there would be anyway they could stop, because she had to use the bathroom particularly urgently, so when Wesker saw the small rural area, he knew he had his chance.

It really was perfect timing.

The Suburban pulled up into the parking area where there were next to no cars located, moving toward the gas pumps - after all, a place as desolate as this _had_ to have some gas left - and he put it in park. Glancing over at Cecilia, he told her, "It seems reasonably deserted here, we should be able to get everything done without a problem despite the time of night."

She gave a nod of her head, though reasonably deserted didn't mean completely so, and she tugged her weapon off of her belt and checked her chamber out of habit, made sure she still had her knife strapped to her waist, and then opened the door at about the same time that he did.

She'd much rather go outside to be honest, instead of potentially getting trapped in a corner in some shitty bathroom and eaten alive, but she decided that, this time, she may as well check to see if she could take advantage of the situation. After all, it was dark and the woods could have had who knew what lurking in them where, in a bathroom in a place like this, things were probably deserted.

Wesker watched her as he'd put the pump to the gas tank of the Suburban, saw her heading to the door on the side of the gas station that had the female restroom logo on it which someone had immaturely enough spray painted the words 'pussys only' across in blue paint a while back, misspelling and all. Nevertheless, Cecilia opened the door and aimed her weapon inside at the ready, then went on in, letting the door shut behind her. Wesker turned to watch the fuel gauge, then looked around the area and spotted someone standing near the entrance to the diner several yards down the way.

That person was ambling toward him slowly through the darkness, and he tugged the nozzle from the gas pump as if the undead creature weren't even there. Wesker decided _not_ to shoot the creature, and instead, he only turned and began to head to the convenience store across the way in the opposite direction from which the zombie was heading. He was actually thankful this place wasn't that deserted after all, and wondered what other bee's nests he could find to stir up.

Inside the restroom, Cecilia had sprayed the facility down completely with a bottle of bleach she'd found settled on the counter, and when she was done after a few minutes alone in the single stall room, she slowly pushed the door open and aimed outside, holding her weapon at the ready as she silently left the bathroom to see a zombie ambling across the lot - and Wesker was no where in sight. She did, however, hear a few distant gunshots, which told her that they weren't alone.

The zombie turned when she walked out, missing skin over half of his face as well as an eyeball. But he wasn't stopping, only heading in whatever direction he could find that would offer him a good meal. He wouldn't be getting one that night however, Cecilia thought to herself, unless he counted eating a bullet - one which Wesker heard from across the lot.

He watched from the shadows between the convenience store and the small hotel, easily able to see the woman scanning the lot from his vantage point in order to try to find him after she'd taken the zombie out. Cecilia didn't see him however, only turned to take a few steps toward the convenience store, thinking that he may have gone inside to try to find food when she heard a thud of sound.

Looking ahead, she noticed a zombie crawling out of a car window several feet ahead of her, and she let a soft cuss, especially when another ambled out of the doorway of the convenience store, followed by another. Up further ahead than where the car was settled, the sound of glass shattering was heard - another zombie was smashing the front window in the office of the hotel in order to get outside, though that one was several yards down the way, and wasn't an immediate threat.

Cecilia aimed at the first zombie woman who'd come out of the convenience store, taking a shot at her head, which wasn't hard to hit because she was so close, and then she aimed at the second one behind her, a tall man with a beard that had all kinds of gore intertwined into the hairs. Cecilia took her third shot at him - also an easy shot because he was getting so close now - and she wondered where in the fuck Wesker had gotten off to.

She didn't want to call his name just yet however and attract any unnecessary attention. Besides, she'd heard distant gunfire, so she guessed he'd been a little busy.

She then aimed at the last zombie who'd come out of the car window, but something distracted her, something moving extremely swiftly, and she turned and aimed in the direction she'd seen it as a growl hit her ears. Whatever it was, it had come out of the woods and between the gas station and the convenience store, and it was moving in fast, much faster than an ordinary zombie could.

Cecilia realized after a single moment that it was one of those stronger types of zombies she'd run into back in Olathe.

Her eyes went wide as it came from between the gas station and the store and tried to swipe two hands with very sharp claws at her, letting a low groan out as she ducked back and fell onto the pavement from the sudden attack. As she narrowly managed to avoid the blow, the zombie who'd crawled out of the car window, which she'd first seen when she'd headed across the lot in order to find Wesker dropped to his knees in order to try to lean over her so that he could get a bite to eat.

Cecilia rolled to the side away from it and kicked her leg out when she landed on her back to knock the stronger zombie off balance so that she could buy herself some time. Wesker watched the crimson head stumbling backwards and then falling over, taking in what the female cop was capable of. After she'd managed to knock the Crimson Head down, she gripped her gun steadily and pulled the trigger again, another shot to the head. Just as she'd managed to get back to her knees, she turned aim on the normal zombie trying to get to her now and finished that one off as well.

Taking a deep breath after she used her next-to-last round on that one, she exhaled and let her head fall forward, pushing herself up to her feet while she was about to reach for her ammo clip in order to reload. But her mind recalled another threat she'd spied coming out of the hotel office, and just as she was about to turn around to face it, she felt her arms being grabbed and jerked back as teeth sank into her shoulder, the pain ripping through her so fierce that she wasted her last bullet in the pavement with a scream.

The instinct to survive caused her to grip her knife on her belt and struggle against what had hold of her now. As she managed to get free and turn her arm and her body enough, she reached up to stab the zombie in the head with one of the knives she'd been carrying with as much force as she could muster. The creature fell backwards and onto his side just as she stumbled away and then hit the pavement herself.

Blood dribbled down her arm from her shoulder, soaking through the white button down shirt she wore, and she looked at her currently empty weapon. She needed to reload it, potentially use it on herself now that she'd been bitten again - after all, she'd already been bitten once, so what if Wesker was right? She might not have _that_ much luck.

Movement caught her attention however, and she glanced over to see Wesker moving toward her, her brows narrowing. "Where were you?"

Wesker stopped at her side and looked at the wound seeping blood from her shoulder, explaining, "Believe it or not, I was ambushed so to speak. A few ran out of the woods, the fast ones, and I sought to lead them away from you and take care of them."

That was a lie, but he wasn't going to tell her he'd gotten the attention of every near by threat that he could by walking out before them in plain sight and then headed up into the woods to fire a few shots just to make his story sound convincing. But he needed to make her face a few alone in the hopes that she'd be bitten - and it'd worked perfectly. The Crimson Head coming out of the woods had simply been an added bonus and more than enough to help get the job done.

Cecilia, after hearing his explanation, let out a little sigh and muttered, "I should've stayed in Olathe." She'd tugged her ammo clip out and opened her chamber to reload it, and once the clip was inserted, she stared at her gun for a moment. "How long do you think I have?"

Wesker lifted a brow. He wasn't going to let her go _that_ easily. Reaching over, he plucked the gun from her hand and shoved it into the back of his belt beneath his trench coat while she stared at him in confusion. "It's hard to say."

Taking her uninjured arm, he hefted her up, and Cecilia shrugged him away, asking, "What the hell are you doing? If it's like you said, then I've been infected, and I probably won't be lucky enough to survive another bite!"

Wesker let a little sigh of breath. "Maybe not, but you're still leaving with me." With those words, he continued to tug her up and onto her feet anyway, and she only began to struggle.

"You sound like you're extremely smart, but right now you're just acting foolish! So get the hell out of here, okay? All I need is–," and she suddenly fell silent when Wesker spun her around and then used the butt of his weapon to hit against the back of her head. Cecilia slumped over lifelessly, and he latched his arm around her to keep her from falling over completely.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I need to know for certain whether it was just a fluke, or if you really are a worthy specimen." With those words, he hooked an arm beneath her knees and took her back to the suburban. Chances were she wouldn't be happy when she woke up, nor would she cooperate easily, but if he wasn't mistaken, the convenience store here - which catered to campers and outdoors men - would have exactly what he needed in order to keep her contained.

_December 1__st__, 2007_

_12:37 AM_

The sound of tires traveling over pavement hit her ears before her eyes opened up, and Cecilia found herself staring out of the passenger's side window, able to see the road flying past beneath the Suburban while she lifted her head, but not much beyond that in the darkness. Her shoulder was throbbing terribly, but she was still alive apparently - somehow.

"Is that you?," she heard Wesker asking while she tried to move her arms, then tugged on them, realizing that they'd been tied securely behind the seat in which she was sitting with rope. She looked down to see more rope around her torso as well, and then heard him adding, "Or do you even understand me?"

Like clockwork, she looked over at him and asked, "Why did you knock me out and tie me up?"

"So it _is_ still you in there," he replied, then glanced over at her before adding, "You left me little choice, my dear. You would've fought me and tried to shoot yourself, and I couldn't have that."

Cecilia was just as confounded as ever. "Why the hell not?"

Wesker had looked back at the road, replying plainly, "Let's just say that I have a theory I'm trying to prove as being true."

She stared at him blankly. Was he serious? A theory? But that prompted yet another question that she _had_ to ask him. "Who are you exactly?"

"Finally asking what matters - _who_ I am instead of _what_." Wesker considered his answer for a moment before he began with an explanation. "I'm a former researcher for Umbrella, one of the key developers of the T Virus which you've been infected with now."

Her expression was still blank. She didn't have the words it took to get out what his explanation told her. So instead of even trying, she only asked him a bit incredulously, "You're one of the _developers_?"

"Yes," he replied simply enough. "You managed to survive a bite wound two weeks ago, and all bites are infectious. Only someone with a natural resistance wouldn't contract the typical illness seen in most Zombies. But I have to test that theory, make sure it's true, no matter how certain I am that it is."

Cecilia suddenly felt like exclaiming the words 'fuck my life', but she didn't because, apparently, it was already potentially fucked. She looked down at herself, thought about their earlier conversation over her arm for a moment, trying to let this all settle in. While she considered it, Wesker added something for her to ponder over.

"I know better than anyone what this virus is capable of, so I've decided to tie you to the seat in order to keep you alive, and if you're still yourself by morning, and that's pushing it, I think it's safe to say you won't be turning into any monsters."

"Well I feel _so_ much better now that you've explained that," she replied sarcastically. "Is that the longest it takes?"

"Mostly, yes. The longest time I've seen it is twelve hours and seven minutes, and most of those were in cases where the virus was passed along by some other means than directly into the blood stream as this transfer has been done, so waiting until morning is actually a bit of a stretch. Honestly, it's probably safe to untie you now."

"I wish you would, my shoulder is killing me with my arm like this."

"Give me a few moments of consideration, Miss Chase. I'm not entirely certain you're past putting a weapon to your own head just to make sure you never become a zombie."

Cecilia narrowed her brows and stared ahead. She wanted to hit him. Or just generally cuss him out. It was while she was going through her litany of potential things to say to him that she had another thought come to mind, and she snapped her face in his direction suddenly and accused, "You _let_ them attack me, didn't you! There was no group of zombies you led off, you just left me there so I'd be attacked!"

Wesker told her only a half truth in response to that accusation. After all, there was no need for complete honesty in this instance. It wouldn't serve his purpose if she knew everything completely. "No, I came back and found you fighting them. Though it's true, I didn't intervene right away. I wanted to see what you were capable of when working alone which has nothing to do with your getting bitten, and yes, I did wait to find out what the outcome would be in that instance. Even still, I _wouldn't_ have let you die, Miss Chase, only be infected again. You seem fairly capable with a weapon by the way, you just let your guard down too soon."

"Fuck you," she spit out at him, venom in her tone. "You're damned right I wouldn't have just volunteered! When you untie me, I'm going to–," she stopped when he interrupted her, his tone one that got her attention.

"Do _what_? Kill me?" He glanced over at her briefly, seeming amused by the prospect. "You can try all you'd like to, but in an odd manner, you might do better to thank me. I've proven here and now that you are resistant to this virus, which is one less thing for you to worry about, and resistance, in _this_ world, is something that I'm certain _everyone_ would dream to have, more than worth its weight in gold."

"You haven't done me any favors, Wesker," Cecilia disagreed with him. "Just that you've showed me it probably _wasn't_ a good idea to come along with you. You allowed me to get bitten, and then that monster back in Olathe? You said you'd seen it before, but just _how many times_? So give me _one_ good reason I should stick with you after all of that?"

"Because, Miss Chase, you haven't yet processed all of the facts in your mind and you are still a bit upset. Because leaving you stranded on the roadside in the middle of the night wouldn't be very kind, and because dropping you off would only take up _my_ time, so I think you can at least wait until I make a legitimate stop."

Cecilia gave him a distasteful look before she turned her gaze from him completely. After a few moments, despite her anger at him, she began to consider what he'd said, looking back down at her blood stained top. So what if dropping her off in the middle of the night on a roadside wouldn't be kind. Standing by while she was facing down with five zombies and then just watching her getting bitten wasn't kind either.

Before she could respond to any of it though, she found him reaching over and suddenly felt a swipe between her wrists behind the chair, her arms going lax. She hissed in a breath as she the weight came off of her shoulder and she pulled the arm connected to it around while asking him, "_Now_ what are you doing? I thought you said morning."

"I realize that, but _you_ said it ached. I thought I would show a little faith, after all, I'm not out to make you suffer needlessly. Besides, I don't really think you're suicidal, and that was the entire point."

The line made Cecilia's brows furrow as she looked over at him, rubbing her wrists and tugging the rest of the rope from around herself. She got the worst feeling she couldn't trust him no matter what he said, but she could kind of see things from his point of view in a way. Knowing if she was resistant would be an asset to the both of them while they made their way to Dallas, wouldn't it? As well, if she was ever bitten again, she wouldn't be tempted to either put a bullet in her own head, and he wouldn't have to put her down needlessly either.

Had he just saved her life in some inexplicably strange way, deeming the allowance of her to be infected necessary to find out if she was resistant in order to know exactly what he was working with?

While she thought that over, she heard him informing her, "There is a first aide kit in the back of the truck. Feel free to help yourself to it."

"Are you always so meticulous?," she asked as she turned in order to climb into the back to grab the item he was talking about.

"Yes, I've been known to be just that," Wesker replied, finding a little humor in her question. "Are you always such a spitfire?"

"When you piss me off, yeah, I can be."

As she'd settled herself in the back seat and found the kit she was looking for, also deciding a change of shirts wouldn't hurt her any - she had a few in the duffle she'd packed in order to travel along with him, she listened to him commenting, "I would've thought you to be a bit more docile after the way you reacted to my pulling the armory door off of its hinges."

"I've never really been one for docile. If that pisses you off, then sorry."

"No, it's just a little curious."

"Well, I don't want to give you a life story if that's what you're looking for. The less we know about one another, the better."

"Trying to avoid emotional bonds so that if something happens to one of us, it would be easier to let go?"

"Sounds good to me."

The way she'd spoken those words told Wesker that she really was closed off. Probably liked being alone as well, didn't know how to handle emotional attachment even if she wanted to. He couldn't speak for her, but he knew that hearing her life story wouldn't make him feel anymore attached to her than he already did, which was very little aside from the interest he had in her due to her blood and the potential it had. But that was best left for later, after the sting of what he'd done to her tonight had worn off.

So in the meantime, he asked, "Do you really think knowing more about _me_ would make you feel some kind of bonding?"

"Good point," she said, a small smirk lighting her face for once. "But either way, I think I'm starting to learn all I need to about you. _My_ theory is that you like having things your way regardless of how it hurts someone else."

"That is usually very true," he admitted without any remorse for it. "It's kept me alive for a long time."

It would keep him alive for a while longer as well.


	11. It

_Chapter 10 - It_

_December 1__st__, 2007_

_Highway 9, Outside of Alma, Colorado_

_1:31 PM_

The hood of the hummer shut with a slightly loud thud, and Chris leaned over the top of the vehicle for a moment before he said, "Definitely the battery."

The wind was up that sunny day, just after the noon hour now, and the temperatures had raised, but not by a great degree. Regan and Chris were both wearing their coats to keep the chill the breeze was bringing with it off of their skin as much as possible, and Regan pushed some loose strands of red hair behind her ear before she glanced over at Chris when he made his verdict about the hummer's ails.

The hummer had almost refused to come on when Chris had made a stop about ten minutes prior in order to refuel, so he'd gotten out of the car and began to inspect beneath the hood. Regan, who did know a slight bit about cars - though she knew she wouldn't be that much help here - got out incase he needed something from inside the hummer or the RV, hoping it wasn't anything irreparable.

"Do you have any cables? You can start her from the battery in the RV."

"Yeah, I've got cables," Chris nodded, "but if we have to stop again, that's going to be a problem. We can't jump her off every time we need to restart her."

Regan watched Chris turning to lean his back against the front of the hummer while he tugged two things out of his pocket, first a pack of cigarettes, from which he drew a paper wrapped stick and lit it, then his phone which she knew had GPS capabilities. She herself still had half a cigarette left clutched between her own fingers that was burning away which she took a drag from, and she glanced at Shannon settled in the backseat and, just to keep the girl from worrying, gave her a thumbs up, which Shannon smiled at. Then Regan looked back over at Chris and asked the obvious.

"So we're going to need to find an auto parts store and raid it for a battery. There's a lot of nothing out this way though."

That was what Chris was worried about - not being able to make it to the closest shop. It was true, he could drive the RV and leave the hummer behind, but the RV was slower, and harder to maneuver on its own, so if he had any chance of keeping the hummer, he was going to take it.

After a moment of searching on his GPS, he told Regan, "Well, there's a Car Quest in Fairplay, about ten miles from where we are now. That's the good news."

Considering that, Regan asked somewhat grudgingly, "What's the bad?"

"We have to go through a small town called Alma, whether we head for Fairplay or not because this highway leads right through it, and there's a chance the battery could die in the middle of it." He shut his cell phone and turned to look at Regan, adding, "It's an extremely small town, and that has me worried."

"Why's that? If it's small, wouldn't it be less threatening?"

"Maybe if the battery wasn't going bad, but now it depends. Being so small, it could have more zombies because chances are that no one's been around to kill any of them, and even in a small town, that many could overwhelm us fast. Then again, there could be a lot of people there who _haven't_ been infected, were stranded, which makes a chance that, in seeing us, they could get violent fast, which might be even worse than zombies."

"Shit," Regan sighed, looking out across the plains that surrounded them in thought as she added, "you're right." After a moment and another draw from her cigarette, she looked over at him and commented, "Still, it's better than running into this problem near Denver. We'd be screwed unbelievably in _that_ situation."

Chris agreed with that, knowing he had to take the good where he could find it, and he glanced up and at Shannon through the window, who was currently playing a game with Dutch of hiding a piece of candy in one hand and making the canine pick which one she'd put it in. It was Shannon that Chris was the most worried about in all of this, and since Shannon was Regan's daughter, he wanted Regan's input on this. It seemed like the outcome was going to be just as difficult to reach no matter which way they went, so it was time to discuss this with the woman standing across from him on the side of the hummer.

"What do you think," Chris started, looking back at the red head. "This involves Shannon, so I want to know which way you think we should go. I can just ditch the hummer here and not worry about it, though it'd be harder to maneuver in bad situations and may be more likely to get turned over when speeding away from something. Or we can jump the hummer off and head into Fairplay, grab the battery, and get out, maybe do a gas run while we're there. We should have the ammo for that much without worrying."

Regan lifted a brow at Chris and told him, "I think, with the problem I caused this morning by talking you into staying in the RV last night, that you might do better not to ask me. Your instincts are better than mine in all of this."

Chris shook his head, a little smirk on his face, asking, "Yeah, but your parental instincts are better than _mine_ are."

Regan sighed, looking over at Shannon to see her suddenly giggling and hugging Dutch, deciding that Chris was probably right - again. She glanced away, in deep thought about it. "Well, how about we jump the hummer, deal with Alma first, and if we get there and the battery fails us, we'll ditch it and take the RV. If not, then we can worry about going into Fairplay and getting the part we need. Like you said, with the hummer or not, we've still gotta head through Alma. So we may as well go in geared up as much as possible."

Chris had just been considering the same thing, and with a nod of his head, he stood up straight and told her, "That sounds reasonable."

"Good," Regan nodded with a small smile, glad for his approval. Somehow he'd become something of a figure she looked up to, but she supposed anyone would feel that way after having their asses saved by someone. Taking a final drag of her cigarette and flicking it out onto the roadway, she asked, "What if we run into survivors? Like, too many to take with us I mean."

"I doubt that many would still be there," he told her honestly. "After this long, anyone in the town with transportation probably would've left, so if there are people still alive there, like I mentioned before, they're probably stranded, scared, and have had a while to think about how desperate they are and what they'd do to get out, so it might not be pretty. Still, I'd take them with us, given they're not infected already or trying to put anyone in danger needlessly."

Regan stood up straight and turned to head back to the hummer as Chris had done the same while she considered just what a desperate person might do irrationally to get to what they thought was redemption. She figured they'd likely do just about anything, including hurting an eight year old, and her senses flared, her protective nature kicking in. The gravity of the situation was definitely grim, and she was almost hoping it was only a town full of more zombies that they could barrel through and not have to worry about anymore afterwards, as bad as that sounded.

She opened the door to the hummer, and saw that Chris was going to the backseat where he probably had his cables, while Shannon asked them, "What's wrong with the car?"

"It's the battery, Squirt, nothing that can't be fixed easily, we just have to get a new one," Regan told her.

"Where can get a new one?"

"Auto parts store," she replied, "we'll have to drive a little ways to get one, but we'll be good to go after that."

Shannon nodded, believing the simplistic explanation her mother had given her, and Regan then heard Chris calling her name from behind the hummer. "Sit tight," she told her daughter, then headed around to the back of the car. Looking down, she saw Chris undoing the hitches that had the RV connected to the hummer, and she asked, "Yeah?"

Chris looked up for a moment, then reached into his pocket, tugging a set of keys out and tossing them up to her. Regan caught them without a problem, and he said, "Go get in the RV and pull it up closer to the hood of the hummer."

"On it," Regan nodded, and she turned around to go climb inside of the large recreational vehicle. Chris finished what he'd been doing between the two cars and he stood up straight, slinging the jumper cables over his shoulder and giving Regan a thumbs up from outside that she was good to go, to which he saw her returning the gesture in a manner that said she understood him.

Turning around, Chris walked up toward the side of his car again, the rest of his smoke clutched between his lips leaving a line of smoke that wafted away from his head in the breeze, and a smile formed on his face when he saw Shannon settled behind the wheel of his car as if she were driving it. He remembered doing the same thing at her age in his Dad's car, not too long before his parents had passed away.

Coming to a stop, he leaned against the door and plucked the cigarette from his lips to toss aside, and after he'd exhaled the smoke through his nostrils, he looked in through the halfway-down window and asked, "You picking anyone up?"

"Sure, hop in," Shannon grinned at him, then noticed the RV coming to life behind them, which made her brows furrow as she looked back. "Hey! What's Mama doing?"

Chris glanced over, seeing Regan backing the RV up so she could get some room to pull up and alongside of the hummer, telling Shannon, "She's pulling up so I can use these cables to start the hummer."

"Okay. I don't get it, but I'll believe ya," Shannon returned, her remark one Chris chuckled over softly.

"Never worked on a car before?" He asked.

"Do I look like a boy?," Shannon returned cutely.

"Not one bit," he grinned. "But there's a lot of boys who like girls that can work on cars."

Shannon started snickering, and she asked him, "Did you have a girlfriend who can work on cars?"

"Nah, no girlfriends. Not recently anyway, but I'd be impressed if she knew how a car worked. What about you? Ever have any boyfriends?" He knew she hadn't, but it'd be amusing to see how she'd react to the question.

Shannon lifted a brow as she crawled onto her knees in order to face him and be able to talk with him more easily. "I'm eight! I've got another five years at least!"

Chris laughed softly over the words. It was at this time that Regan pulled up behind him and next to the hummer, and he looked back to see the door opening and the driver climbing out. When she got within earshot, Shannon said, "Mama, Chris said boys like girls who can work on cars, is that true?"

Regan looked a little surprised, wondering what they'd been talking about while she was at work, but she just smiled and said, "I don't know, I guess so. After all, I like a guy who can fix my car and avoid any mechanic fees. So I suppose it works both ways."

Shannon snickered, and she gave Chris a look. Chris narrowed his brows, asking, "What's so funny?," and that just made the little girl laugh more loudly.

Regan had no clue what was going on, only giving Chris a lifted brow before she went to the door of the hummer. "Alright, move aside little miss-I-don't-have-a-licence," she said with a grin, opening the door while Chris, who was still smiling, went to attach the cables. Shannon scooted to the side and Regan sat down, lifting the keys to put them in the ignition. As she did that, while Chris was in front of the RV, Shannon told her something quietly.

"Mama, I like him."

"You do, huh?"

With a nod, the girl watched Chris walking back to the hummer, and Regan popped the hood for him. After he'd lifted it, Shannon continued, "Yep, he's nice, he's funny, and he knows how to use a gun."

The last part made Regan give her daughter a little bit of a surprised, if not amused expression. When Shannon saw it, she asked, "What? That's important now, isn't it!"

Regan started chuckling, saying, "Yeah, I guess it is, Shannon," when she heard Chris telling her to get the hummer started.

Regan went to turn the ignition over, and the hummer sputtered just a bit, so she let go, then tried it again. That time, the hummer purred to life perfectly, making them hope that even if they did have to stop in the future for whatever reason, they might actually be able to start her up without a jump. But if they stopped at all, they hoped it would only be once between there and Fairplay.

Chris tugged the cables off and shut the hood, heading to the RV to do the same before he saw Regan getting out of the car and heading to the RV herself.

As she passed, she said, "I'll let you get the hummer hitched again, I don't wanna run into the RV," and she got inside of the RV so that she could turn the vehicle off and grab the keys while waiting for Chris to drive the hummer around.

Chris nodded and threw his cables into the back, then climbed behind the wheel of his car. After he'd shut the door and grabbed the gear shift, Shannon looked over at him and asked, "Do you think it'll cut off again?"

"Honestly? It started pretty easy, so I don't think it'll go off," Chris told her as he'd drove a bit ahead in order to back up to the RV so he could hitch them together again. Regan had already moved outside and stood there to help by telling Chris when he was close enough, and as he backed up, he waited for her signal.

"I hope so," Shannon started, "because we've come a long way already, and we don't wanna do all that for nothing."

Chris liked how the kid thought, seeing Regan in his rearview when she put up her hands to signal to him to stop. Putting the break on, then shifting into park, Chris looked at Shannon and said, "We won't have. I'll do my best to make sure of it."

Shannon gave him a big grin, nodding her head and saying the words, "I believe you, Chris. Everything else you've said has been right."

Chris didn't completely agree with that, but he liked that the little girl had faith in him for some reason, and he gave her a smile before he got up and out of his car. As he began to head toward the back, he noticed that Regan had turned around, was staring at the ground, getting his attention by drawing out the words, "Uh, Chris..."

Chris came to a stop near the back door of the hummer when he saw what Regan was looking at. A zombie that was missing its lower half had pulled itself out of the grass on the side of the road, its entrails slithering behind it as it moved, and was very slowly working its way toward her. She didn't have her gun out though, knowing better than to waste ammo on a zombie that couldn't get up and give chase, and she asked him when he saw the zombie, "Do you still have that baseball bat in your backseat?"

Chris had been carrying a bat around for about a week now, one he'd found on the side of the road near a suburban area in Wyoming, and he'd already gone to his door in order to grab it for her. Carrying it toward the back of the car, he was about to head over between the two vehicles when Regan stopped him.

"Just give it to me, I'll do it. Get the cars hitched back up."

"You sure?"

She gave him a determined nod of her head, and Chris sighed, but he held the bat out to her, and then went to work hitching the hummer back up to the RV.

Regan grabbed the bat and backed up a bit, looking toward the hummer where her daughter was sitting. Shannon had already seen the monster, was giving a look of fear to her mother, and Regan shook her head wordlessly and then pointed down. The little girl ducked her head obediently, and Regan took the bat in both hands and looked back at the zombie grunting as it made its way toward her.

Chris made quick work of the hitch, able to hear Regan plowing the bat down into the zombie's head, the sickening crunch of sound that action made while he finished his work, standing back up to see that she'd finished the zombie off. It was much better to put the former human out of its misery than to let it creep up on someone else who might've been in the same situation that they were, and he looked at Regan who'd turned away and breathed in a deep breath while letting the now bloodied bat fall to the pavement with a clatter, looking a little sick from the sight.

He had to remind himself that she hadn't handled as many of these types of situations as he had, had to remind himself that he'd seen so many of those types of gruesome scenes that he'd been desensitized and it didn't bother him anymore, could handle them more easily, and he also got the feeling that Regan wouldn't want to be coddled about it. After all, she'd asked to do it on her own, so he knew she was trying to get herself to the point that she could also handle these things more easily, probably for the sake of her daughter.

So instead of asking if she'd be okay, he just told her, "Let's go, there could be more on the way here. We've made a lot of noise, and that's probably what drew that one."

Regan gave the man a nod of her head and she went back to the hummer. Shannon was still hiding her face and when Regan opened the door, the little girl looked up and asked, "Are you okay, Mama?"

"I'm fine," Regan reassured her, climbing into the car. Inside, yes, she did feel queasy, knew she wouldn't eat for a while without feeling sick because, even if it had been a zombie, she'd never bludgeoned someone's head in with a blunt object before - even when she'd hit her neighbor, that had only knocked him over - so she was even a bit shaky. But, as she let Shannon settle on her lap, felt the hummer starting off down the road after a moment, she knew she'd be fine. After all, that zombie could have been crawling toward her little girl without her knowing it, so proving to herself that she could do such a thing made her feel better about being able to protect her daughter in the future.

As Regan told Shannon she was fine, Chris glanced over at the two of them and then back out at the road again. It was nice, somehow, to see the two of them, a family together, surviving through this mess despite all odds, and to know that Regan was ready to do what she had to in order to ensure that Shannon could live as normal a life as was possible after all of this.

It was then that a song popped into Chris's head, and if he hadn't been worried about the drive just ahead of them, and about the battery of his hummer, he probably would've started playing it. The song was Going to California by Led Zeppelin, and even though they weren't heading to California, it still seemed fitting, even the meaning behind a lot of the lyrics.

He felt pretty optimistic just then, and he hoped that feeling would last through Alma.

The ride led the group down a road situation between plains with distant hills rising up and into the distance. The closer they got to the town they were inevitably having to travel through the heart of, the more trees began to enshroud the road sides, though only in single file lines, which didn't obscure their view at all, and those trees faded away as they arrived in Alma finally.

It was a tiny little town settled between hills and valleys in the Coloradan landscape, mostly bereft of trees, something like a contemporary wild west town. Homes were scattered on the roadsides, some with cars parked in front of them, the doors hanging wide open in some cases, and others houses those that were still in the process of being built, and would likely never be finished. Piles of lumber stood around them in several areas, and then there were other places that looked like homes, but were actually consignment shops and craft stores.

Despite this, the main road was actually in very good condition, and it didn't look like too much of a panic had really set in when things had come crashing down on everyone, probably because there hadn't been that many people around to actually panic. Still, Chris kept his eyes open, and so did Regan, watching the roadways and the homes for signs of any movement that could either threaten them or bring them to a stop with a good bit of focus.

Dutch also seemed to be focused. Shannon had climbed into the backseat with him again and she was hugging his side, looking out at the town that was now a proverbial ghost town from the way it looked. Her question, though it had been asked softly itself, broke through the silence between the four of them like a blade might cut through butter.

"Do you think they're all dead?"

"I don't know, Shannon," Regan replied, and while she was glad there wasn't anything barreling them down, she had an uneasy feeling about all of this - _very_ uneasy. So she told her daughter, "Keep your head down, squirt, until we get out of here, okay?"

Shannon obeyed her mother and got down into the floorboard, though she didn't pull Dutch with her because she thought that Dutch might be a better help sitting up on the seat and watching the roadways. Shannon heard Chris saying the dog had helped to save his life already, so she definitely wanted him looking out for everyone.

After a few moments more, traveling down the road, the town so small in fact that it actually had a place called "Alma's Only Bar", Chris looked over at Regan who was shaking her head.

"It's just too quiet."

That was what he'd been thinking. He'd at least expected to see zombies standing here and there on the side of the road, turning to follow them as they passed, but there was just _nothing_. Only the sun in the afternoon sky lighting through the clear blue as if nothing was wrong at all - except for the vehicles that had been left here and there, most of them crashed.

"Chris, look," Regan said suddenly, and he glanced over to where she'd pointed to see a door on a front porch opening, and a young lady stepping outside who was staring at the moving vehicle with a bit of shock on her face.

She looked to be in her teens somewhere, with shoulder length black hair, and she was dressed in a jacket and a pair of jeans, looked clean enough for the apparent apocalypse at hand. Chris began to slow down, rolling his window down in the process, and when he did, Regan asked, "You think it's safe to stop here?"

"For a moment," he replied, and noticed the teenager coming down the steps of the front porch in order to run out to meet them. Seemed like she was definitely interested to see real human life about. So as she approached, he asked, "Hey, are you alone?"

"No," she shook her head, making her way to the hummer. "But just barely. My little sister is inside."

Chris nodded his head, then looked back at the house and asked, "If you two need a ride, you can come with us. We're heading to Dallas."

She looked as if she might faint from the sudden notion of getting a ride out of there. "Really! I mean, yes, that would be great. I'm Tanya, and we're the last people here that I know of. I've tried to go to the store for food and keep quiet, but I never see anyone."

"_Anyone_?," Regan asked, a little uncertain. "Not even...zombies?"

"Very few," she informed them, "but that's because of the...," she trailed, looking between the two adults, then explained, "well, I don't know what it is, it only came out at night at first. But recently it's been coming out during the day, probably because most people have disappeared and I think it's hungrier."

"Mama, let's get out of here," Shannon said suddenly, pushing herself up and over the back of the front seat with a worried expression on her face.

When Tanya saw the girl, she slapped her hand over her mouth, exclaiming, "I'm sorry!"

"It's okay," Chris said, "just go get your sister and get your things, and we can get out of here."

With a nod, Tanya turned around to do just that, and that's when they all heard a loud scream coming from what sounded like the other side of the home Tanya had been staying in, one that got Shannon completely over the seat and into her mother's lap with a loud whimper.

"Greta!," Tanya yelled, and before either adult could say anything, Tanya ran off to find her sister, heading into the house.

"Tanya, wait!," Chris called, then cussed and threw off his seatbelt. "Stay here and lock the doors, I'll go get her," he told Regan, pulling his weapon out and grabbing his shotgun from the area between the seats before he pushed his door open.

Regan nodded and locked the doors once they were shut, reaching over to put Chris's window up, and she went to climb behind the driver's seat while trying to comfort Shannon just incase Chris came back and they had to get out of there in a hurry.

Chris moved on toward the side of the house while getting the strap of his shotgun over his chest, making his way swiftly across the yard, following Tanya who'd gone that way instead of going through the front door. As he rounded the corner, he aimed his handgun, getting his surroundings mapped in his head, which included the wall of the home to his left, and a play ground with swings and a slide about fifteen feet to his right, but no signs of anything about. He just managed to catch a glimpse of Tanya before she'd rounded the corner and into the back yard, and so he called her name.

"Tanya! Stop!" When she didn't, he let out a groan of frustration followed by the words, "Goddamn it," and then made his way into the backyard behind her. It was a fairly large backyard, only one small tree, and aside from the steps leading down from the back of the house to a patio area, there really wasn't anything noteworthy besides a large wishing well near the back of the yard. Tanya was coming to a stop near the center of the everything, yelling Greta's name.

Chris moved in behind her and grabbed her shoulder before she could take off again, saying, "Shush," as the teenager looked up at him. He held onto his gun in one hand with a firm grip and listened.

She was panting with her concern, and when things remained quiet, Tanya whimpered, almost at tears when she said, "It came back and got her."

Chris didn't like the sound of that, but he knew he had to get Tanya to safety before he could even attempt to help Greta. "Come on, Tanya, you need to get back to the car where it'll be safer. I'll find her for you."

"There's nothing to find! She's dead! It got her!"

It was apparent that Tanya was overwhelmed with grief, which made the situation even more dangerous, so despite her arguing, Chris took her upper arm and began to pull her along. "You don't know that," he said as sternly and as rationally as he could - even though he'd never really been the rational one. For a second, he wished he had his sister's patience, or hell, even Leon's considering the guy could be a smooth talker whenever he needed to be.

It was when he was about to tell Tanya that if she didn't get to the car, they'd both be dead, when she suddenly let another loud scream.

Chris looked back, but not in time to prevent himself from blacking out.


	12. Mercy

_Chapter 11 - Mercy_

_December 1__st__, 2007_

_Alma, Colorado_

Chris groaned as he felt his consciousness coming back to him, but his whole body felt droopy and lifeless from the neck down almost. He tried to move his arms, but he couldn't quite get them to work, not the way he wanted to at least, and what he could get moving at all made his entire body wobble as if he were somehow adrift in midair. It made no sense to him, and he opened his eyes, greeting a dim darkness surrounding him through which he could only barely see.

But he could make out various shapes across from him which really didn't add up to make any pictures he could discern, at least, at first. Eventually, he realized he was looking at white strands hanging in front of him with a rocky wall for a backdrop, and he found his lighter inside of his jacket pocket with his fumbling fingers, tugging it out slowly. He wasn't sure he would even be able to get it to work, but he had to try. As he managed to get the lid of the zippo opened, he heard a low groan coming from somewhere close to his proximity, and he looked over to his right, where the sound had come from, just barely able to make out a human outline.

"Tanya?"

"Huh?," she asked as if hardly aware, and Chris tried to move again, noticing that the same wobbling that movement caused in his body also caused her's to do the same, as if they were connected somehow.

"What the...," he drew out, working his fingers to try to get his lighter to light, which was extremely difficult considering the pad of each finger still felt incredibly numb. Finally, he managed to flick the switch of the zippo to make it light, and he was almost tempted to stay in the dark because sometimes knowing what was going on in these situations wasn't always the best of things.

As the area became a little more illuminated, he realized that he was surrounded by webbing. Strands of it were wrapped around his arms and legs, his torso, and his neck, holding him aloft in the air as if he were levitating, suspended several feet off of the ground from what he could tell in the dim scope of lighting he had from his lighter.

As he began to piece this together, he heard Tanya's breathing picking up as if she were finally coming to just before she said on a soft, yet panicked tone of voice, "Oh my god, it's a huge spider web!"

"Just calm down, Tanya," Chris said as calmly as he could, definitely not needing the burden of a panicking person on his hands at that moment. He'd barely gotten a look at the creature who'd jumped them before he'd been knocked out, though he'd seen spiders as big as he was before, so he wouldn't be completely shocked to see that the same thing was what they were dealing with now, but he knew that like any other situation, his only way out of it was to keep a level head.

"Come on, breath normally, Tanya. I just have to get to my knife, and we'll be fine."

He could tell that Tanya was trying to listen to him, and he tried to move his arm, but it was damned near impossible to do - not because the webbing was too strong for him to, but because he felt so numb and close to paralyzed, though granted the feeling was coming back all of the time. The creature had probably injected them with some kind of toxin to make them easier to handle and bring back to its nest in order to save as a snack for later, which told Chris an ugly truth - Tanya was probably right about Greta already being dead.

Still, Chris tried to move his arm, and realized he just wouldn't be able to get to his knife unless...he looked at the fire burning in his lighter, and pushed it beneath one of the strands holding his arm. The webbing began to melt and then snapped, which freed his arm enough to go inside of his jacket for his knife. He closed his lighter for the moment and did just that.

"I can barely feel anything," Tanya told him as he'd managed to do this, "my body feels like a rock. Everything's numb."

Chris had to admit he knew the feeling, especially in his legs just then which he could barely move at all, but for him at least he was able to move some. It probably had to do with their sizes - he was bigger so it would take more toxin to keep him under for as long as someone Tanya's size would feel the effects. Still, he could tell he wasn't in perfect condition when he got his knife free and his arm almost immediately fell, but as he worked on cutting through more of the strands, he spoke to Tanya just to get her mind off of her fear.

"It must have injected us with something to knock us out. I'm starting to get my feeling back, so I'll get us down in a second."

Tanya was sniffling, and Chris felt sorry for her, but at that moment, there was nothing more he could do aside from work on cutting away the webbing. There was some good news in that he still had his shotgun strapped around his chest, knew his handgun had been left behind when he'd been jumped, so once he got free, he wouldn't be completely defenseless. He moved his arm again and sliced through another web, feeling more slack being given in how he was held up.

Now he knew what had gotten all of the people in town too, why there were no zombies or survivors. Proof enough lay in the fact that he could see various objects hanging in the webbing here and there - shoes, glasses, a baseball cap, and in a corner he was glad that Tanya couldn't see into because it was a good ways behind her, he'd noticed a withered human hand when his lighter had been lit.

It was quiet in that area for the moment though, telling Chris that the monster who'd abducted them wasn't around which made him a little afraid it had gone after Regan and Shannon, but he couldn't focus on the what if's. Instead, he worked his arm up when he felt he had the ability to, and cut through more of the webbing. This time he felt it snapping away from his torso and leg. The jolt made them shake again where they were suspended in midair.

"I'll be over to get you in a second, I'm half way free."

"I'm so scared," he heard her whimpering barely audibly.

"I know, but we'll get out of here, I'm almost out."

She didn't respond to that directly, only murmured out, "Poor Greta. She must have seen something, maybe thought it was me. I told her I was going to go outside and grab some wood for the fireplace because it was getting colder. Then I heard your car."

Chris listened while he worked a third webbing free, one which caused him to fall from where he'd been hanging suddenly, his body weight enough to tear any remaining threads of webbing away and some of it down with him, preventing him from replying to what she'd just told him. He hit the floor hard, and then fell to his side, and the sudden movement jolted Tanya a good bit because she let out a wail of fear.

Chris cringed over both the landing and the way the girl had screamed, hoping the sounds didn't attract anything, but he knew they would more than likely. Thankfully though, she calmed down and got quiet when she realized he'd just gotten free of the webbing, and Chris pushed himself over and gripped his lighter, tugging it up before he lit it again. For a brief moment he considered the last time he'd felt this uncoordinated was the last time he'd gotten really plastered - this just didn't have the buzz to go along with it.

Sadly.

"I'm out," he told Tanya as his lighter came back on, asking her, "You okay?"

"No," she replied, "not really."

He hadn't thought so, but if she was well enough to answer him, then he knew that physically she remained intact. "Alright, just hold on, I'm gonna get you down now."

That was, if he could get his legs to work, he qualified to himself, and he took a look around now that he could see again to realize he'd fallen about six feet to the floor below. The webs were mostly attached to the ceiling, though he knew with his height he'd have to crouch to avoid them whenever he _could_ manage to get back onto his feet again. Nevertheless, he took in what he could see of the area.

It was a cavern of some type, beneath the ground more than likely, and Chris, who was working his way to the closest wall, remembered seeing a wishing well in Tanya's backyard, so he asked her about it. "Tanya, that well in your backyard, does it lead underground?"

"Yes," she replied while Chris used the rocky wall to stand, avoiding as much of the webbing as he possibly could by staying a bit crouched. "My grandmother said it was a part of some old caverns that led to old mines and an underwater reservoir somewhere around here, all of it was connected."

That made sense, Chris considered, with as many hills and valleys were in this area. As he examined the webbing while she'd spoken, he could see a good path to get to the teenager, saying, "Then we'll use it to get back out."

Tanya craned her head the best she could, able to see him easily with the lighter, asking, "Can you feel anything yet?"

"Sort of," he replied, and started moving toward her, knife in hand, when he heard something like a crackle in the close distance.

"What was that?," Tanya gasped in her breath, looking around frantically.

Chris wasn't sure, and he turned toward the direction the sound had come from, steadying his currently strengthening legs the best that he could when he looked to his left. As he did, he saw a round object, and he held his lighter up a little higher, realizing exactly what it was - an unhatched egg sack.

Suddenly, he heard Tanya screaming her lungs out from the dimness beyond the scope of his lighter, noticed the web shaking because she was struggling so much, and he looked back in her direction, just barely able to see that she had baby spiders crawling all over her - that was, baby in the terms of a about the size of his palm. They'd hatched from some egg he hadn't seen yet apparently, from the shadows of movement he could see there were probably a few hundred of them swarming the web now, crawling across it in order to get their first meal.

It was chilling to hear the teenager screaming like she was suddenly, yelling and pleading for help, and Chris put his lighter away quickly and tugged his knife back out, getting toward her as quickly as he could to cut her free. One slice got her leg free, and she went to kicking, her movements making it much more difficult, especially in the dark, for him to cut her loose. But he knew he couldn't tell her to stay still, not when he could see that she had spiders crawling all over her from a newly hatched egg somewhere, so he grabbed a second webbing and cut that one free, but that was going to be too slow to save her in time.

So Chris did the best and fastest thing he could, which was to reach to her leg and grab her ankle so he could tear her down, but he missed the already flailing limb when a sudden stinging sensation ripped through his cheek as a spider had landed on his shoulder and crawled up to bite him. He swatted the thing off and realized that all of her kicking was knocking them from the webbing and some were landing on him, as well as onto the floor to crawl near him. In a determined fashion, even as another one landed on the back of his hand and bit into him, he gave another grab for her ankle to pull.

But he stopped himself when he managed to glimpse her face, realizing that she'd barely been kicking anymore.

She wasn't dead yet, which only made it even more sickening to see, and even if he did get her out of the webbing now, how long would she live after that? He didn't want to even think of the horrible way her face looked after sustaining bites and welts in the places he could actually see through both the darkness and the spiders all over her.

The cold, harsh reality of truth settled in his mind like a ton of bricks smashing down into him - it was too late for her now. He was going to have to end her suffering. But that wasn't the sad part. The sad part, as he saw it, was that it wasn't the first time he'd faced that type of situation.

So he did what he knew he had to, gripping his shotgun as he stumbled back on his feet which jarred some of the spiders that had crawled up the sides of his legs into falling back to the floor, and he took aim at her. Her screaming had started to die down into low wails of anguish, a sound that anyone would want to put an end to.

"I'm sorry," he drew out, and the sounds she was making ceased with the blast of his shotgun reverberating through the walls.

In fact, after that, it seemed _too_ quiet. Chris couldn't look back up, no matter how much he'd already seen. He didn't want to see that poor girl hanging there, being eaten by those spiders even now, only wanted the knowledge that she wasn't suffering anymore like she'd been a few moments beforehand. He couldn't even pull her down now like he wanted to because if he did that, jarred the web anymore, he'd get more of those flesh hungry insects on him again, still able to feel the swelling of the bite on his cheek and the back of his hand, and he knew the whelps were bleeding.

He could only hope her suffering hadn't been too extreme. She'd been numb for the most part, she'd said. So maybe that counted for something. Either way, he couldn't imagine how painful it'd been to feel that again and again with the number of spiders he could make out in the web when he'd only really been bitten twice. Swiping a hand across his cheek, pulling it back to see the blood there on his fingers, he groaned and turned, limping slowly beneath the webbing toward the only exit in the cavern that he could see, hoping he was going the right way.

As he worked his way beneath the webbing swarming with spiders now, out of the dark cavern, he found himself in a chasm, and the walls were damp. He stopped for a moment and lifted his hand to his jacket pocket to grab his lighter again, lifting it up and lighting it. There was a stream of water flooding down the side of one wall from cracks along the ceiling, and he could tell from the flow which way it went. He decided to follow it, hoping it might lead him back to the base of that wishing well where he'd apparently been dragged down into with Tanya after they'd been knocked unconscious.

He wondered how long he'd been out, wondered if Regan and Shannon were still in the hummer waiting on him with Dutch. It felt kind of funny to consider that he'd rather be in the hummer when it was the only place he'd been in the past two and a half weeks now, but as far as he was concerned, the inside of that hummer was the only place that made sense anymore. Shotgun in hand, he continued to try to make it back there now, pushing onward even as he wondered why he was alive once again when that girl back there hadn't done a damned thing wrong to anyone save maybe leave her little sister alone for a minute too long.

It wasn't fair, to her, or to him. She didn't deserve to die, especially not like that, and Chris didn't deserve to be her judge and jury, to have to make a mercy shot like he had and then feel the weight of it bearing down on him for the rest of his days with everything else he'd done. Or even worse, not even feel that weight anymore because he'd done things just like it so many times now. He was through trying to figure out life and how unfair it was, especially in a world that made as little sense as this one did.

His legs were feeling a slight bit more lively, more importantly they felt controllable at least, but he still didn't think doing jumping jacks were quite up his alley. As he got to the end of the cavern, the sound of water growing louder and louder along the way, he looked to the left - his only direction to travel down - and saw a thin wall of water ahead of himself, which was flooding from a stream that was apparently right over his head in a cavern above him.

Pushing himself toward it, uncaring that he got partially drenched as he passed through it, he heard a clicking sound coming from the cavern ahead of him and carefully placed his steps, which was in the water trailing down a rocky incline at a moderate pace. How fucking far had this creature carried the two of them, he wondered for a brief moment. Nevertheless, he moved further into the next cavern, looking everywhere he could as that clicking sound got louder.

It wasn't quite as dark in this room as it had been in the last, and Chris could tell it was because of a faint light coming in from a hole in the wall that had to be about ten to fifteen feet off of the ground. Still, the light was faint, didn't offer a lot of help, but he could at least tell from it that the water was running down and into a pool in the center of the cavern, a cavern which rose a good way up in height. There were other small waterfalls streaming into the room from small tunnels aside from the chasm Chris had just entered the room through - but that didn't account for the clicking Chris could hear.

He would've tugged his lighter back out again, but he didn't want it to get wet, nor did he want to take his hands off of his shotgun when he had that feeling in his gut that he was being watched. That creature - which was probably a huge spider - was very close. As he stepped into the room - realizing he was out in the open for the thing to see - he heard the clicking sound stop just like he thought he would. He looked around in the darkness the best that he could see and gripped his shotgun tighter, nodding his head in response to the sudden silence while saying, "That's what I thought. Fresh meat. Get's 'em every time."

It was silent now except for the water rushing down into the room, and Chris aimed his shotgun out at the ready while working his way around to any exit he could find. So far, he saw none though, only rock walls, but he did hear what sounded like a few rocks tumbling down in a certain direction, and he turned to aim up at the wall where the light was coming from.

As soon as he did, he saw Regan crouched there on the edge of the tunnel above where the dim lighting was coming from with her rifle at her eye, and she called a warning, "Behind you on the wall!"

She'd taken a shot as Chris had spun around, and surely enough, he could make out the outline of a large spider that had been trying to creep up on him, one which let a shrill scream when it was hit with the bullet from Regan's rifle, and Chris had wasted no time in aiming his shot gun and taking a much closer shot. He'd seen big spiders before, but this one took the cake - probably made fat and happy from all of the people it'd gotten a hold of.

The spider - which only Regan could see clearly through her night vision scope and she had to say she was extremely horrified - reared back as she aimed for another shot, taking it while Chris cocked his shotgun again, her blasts working in time with his to keep the oversized eight legged freak back. After Chris took his shot, the spider leapt off of the wall and onto the floor to began to move in closer to Chris, who was backing away from it while he fired yet another round. The proximity was too close for Regan to help now without risking shooting Chris.

She couldn't see any way to get down safely from where she was in order to help him any easier, and didn't want to move her scope from the scene, otherwise she might have to pan to find them again and get there too late. All she could do was sit where she was currently and take her shots when she got them.

Chris was knocked onto his back after his third shot by an oversized leg, almost immediately rolling to the side when the spider tried to snap a huge pair of mandibles at him. Thankfully the spider only bit into air however, and Chris moved onto his back again. Almost directly beneath the creature now, he aimed upward at it and pulled the trigger.

The blast to the soft underside of the spider made it squeal again in pain, and it backed off of him quickly.

"Thought you'd like that," he taunted before pushing himself back and onto his feet again. "Not so easy to fuck over when I know you're coming, am I?"

When Regan noticed that she was clear for another shot, she took it without question, a shot which Chris heard, glad for the back up he had in that moment. It gave him time to reload his shotgun with the ammo he'd become accustomed to carrying in his inner jacket pocket.

Once he'd finished, he heard Regan calling out, "Reloading!," and he noticed the spider was extremely pissed off at her, because it'd turned and began to climb the wall as if to take her out next. Chris followed it's outline in the dim light as he loaded the ammo up and cocked his weapon, then took aim, firing at one of its legs. The appendage broke beneath the blast with a mess of green gore flowing out of it everywhere, part of it hanging on by nothing more than a slither of muscle, unusable by the enemy now. The action caused the spider to screech, and a second blast from Chris's weapon near its head made it tumble down and off of the wall - and right toward Chris.

Regan had just noticed the thing was coming her way when Chris had fired off the first blast of his weapon after he'd reloaded it, and she tugged her own reloaded rifle up to get the thing in her sights as quickly as possible before it could reach her. But apparently, Chris's blasts had done the trick to stop it - perhaps _too_ well. The Spider went tumbling down toward him with a loud crash of rocks and sound, and Regan pulled her finger away from the trigger and used the scope to scan the ground in the area, looking for Chris. She noticed the Spider's legs folding up over it - hopefully meaning it was dead - but she didn't see Chris anywhere.

"Chris!"

Water sloshed in sound suddenly, and she panned up a bit to the pool in the center of the cavern, suddenly seeing him coming out of the waste deep water he'd been knocked into. "I'm fine," he called up to her, stepping out of the water completely and passed the spider's corpse.

Regan couldn't help but sigh in relief, and he looked up at her, asking, "Where'd you come from anyway?"

"Long story, I'm more concerned about getting us out first."

"Good point," he replied, heading toward the rocky wall. There were a few ledges he could get a footing on to climb, so he told her, "I can climb this up to you. Did you use that wishing well to get down here?"

"Yeah, and a garden hose."

"Garden hose?," he asked, half amused as he went to purchase one of the rocks jutting out of the wall so he could climb up to her.

Regan chuckled softly while tugging the radio off of her belt, "Best I could do on such short notice." Following those words, while Chris climbed, she got on the radio and said, "Shannon, I've found him, he'd fine. Are you okay? Over."

"Roger, we're okay," came the little girl's voice over the radio, "Tell Chris I'm glad he's okay too!"

"Will do, squirt. We're heading back up there now, just sit tight."

When she was done, she put the radio back onto her belt and looked back over the cavern, seeing the spider still laying there unmoving. That's when she explained, "When you were gone for a while, I got Dutch to try to track you down. He went right over to the well. So I put him and Shannon in the RV and came to find you. There was a garden hose on a roller in the back yard, and I used it to climb down."

Chris had gotten close to the edge by then, and Regan reached to take his hand. Helping him up and into the tunnel she was in, she saw his cheek and the back of his hand when he'd taken hers, and she blinked at the whelp that still had a little blood trickling out of it. He was completely soaked through, a good bit of untrimmed beard on his face making him look completely rough around the edges, and he looked worn out.

"Damn, you look like hell. Better get out of here before you get a cold on top of it with those wet clothes on." Then she asked, "I'm guessing Tanya didn't make it, or her sister."

Chris, resting for just a moment, shook his head, "I never found Greta, and Tanya and I were strung up in a web. I didn't manage to save her before...she was eaten. I had to either shoot her, or let her die slowly. I chose the former."

"Fuck," Regan cussed as Chris stood up, moving to get up along with him. "Well, the exit's right up that way around the corner. There was nothing around when I came down."

Chris sighed, continuing along, and he told Regan, "There's probably nothing much in this town period. You should've stayed in the car."

Regan narrowed her brows as she walked along behind him, saying, "Maybe, but you wouldn't have if it'd been me or Shannon."

"How the hell do you know that?"

She could tell he wasn't in the best of moods, and after hearing what he'd had to do, she couldn't blame him for it. So she didn't return his ire, but she did say, "Because not just anyone would take off after a teenager they don't even know in order to help them out. Besides, Shannon was worried sick."

"And you just left her with Dutch in the RV with the motor running. Anyone could come along to take off with them."

Now that _did_ make Regan angry. On a normal tone of voice, but one that carried a sharp edge, she said, "You know what, fuck you too. I didn't leave it running, I cut it off, because I didn't want to leave your ass behind and I wasn't going to risk Shannon either. So yeah, blame me now if we get stranded or have to leave the hummer, or blame yourself if it makes you feel better, but don't you ever call me negligent in taking care of my daughter. Especially when the reason I left her was to make sure you were okay for her sake."

Chris had turned around to face her, his expression a mask of, from Regan could tell, quite a few things, most of which were ireful. But she didn't just stand there, only brushed past him and made her way out of the tunnel. "Come on, we don't wanna stand here arguing for nothing."

Chris wasn't going to let it go that easily however, and he headed in behind her now, saying once he'd reached her, "Maybe you should've left my ass, get the hell out of Doge while you still had the chance to. You could've been killed easily, you ever think about that?"

"Yeah, I thought about it, and thought it was a _really_ bad idea." She'd come to a stop at a corner and turned to face him finally, looking up at him directly in the eyes, which she could see much easier with the light ahead from the wishing well shining in were blue to her surprise. Hadn't they been brown before?

She didn't give the thought too much mind in that moment however when she added almost immediately, "I can't do this on my own, Chris. I was realizing that when you found us stranded in that farm house. I'm not as strong as you are, not when it comes to this kind of shit, and as much as it kills me, I know I can't get Shannon to Dallas on my own. So if I left you behind, I may as well have packed our shit and moved into Tanya's house to wait for death to come and find us, okay?"

Chris took that in, and Regan cleared her throat because admitting she couldn't keep her daughter safe alone in this world nearly killed her inside, so she felt close to tears that she was now desperately trying to hold back. On a much calmer tone of voice, she added, "So don't play the martyr, Chris. I knew the stakes when I left the hummer. Besides, if something were wrong on Shannon's end, I'd know it," she told him, motioning to her belt where her radio was settled. "She's fine and I wanna get back to her sooner rather than later."

She turned around to go, and Chris sighed out a breath, moving in behind her again. As he went, they came to a much brighter area that was apparently the bottom of the shaft where the wishing well was in the backyard of the home about fifteen feet down. He thought for a moment about their discussion, what he'd said to her about leaving Shannon in the RV, and guessed he'd just been pissed.

Chris knew his hot temper flared up a lot, made him bite out insults like he just had harshly enough to really hurt people's feelings, though he did wish Regan had stayed in the car. After all, he was on his way out. Though, as he looked up the fifteen foot shaft, he had to wonder if he really would've been able to climb up by himself after everything, especially without a rope.

"I attached this to the gear at the top where there was a basket on a short rope for show. I know it'll support me," Regan explained, lifting the hose in her hands.

"You go up first then," he said, "then you can help pull me up."

Regan nodded in agreement, putting her rifle back around her chest using the strap before she got the hose tied around her waist, then used the other line hanging down over the gear to pull herself up, scaling the wall. Chris watched to make sure she was alright when she climbed over the top, then called back a heads up and threw the hose back down.

Regan knew the gear wouldn't support Chris's weight, so she kept the end of it tied around her waist while tugging on the rope to hold it steady, using all of her strength as Chris pulled himself along in order to keep the hose in place. She wished she was strong enough to just pull him up, but with his muscle mass, that would have been damned near impossible.

Once Chris was out of the well, he pushed himself over the rocky wall and onto the grass covered ground, letting out a sigh of breath. He'd been a slight bit surprised to see Regan holding the rope on her own, and she headed over to him, saying, "You're extremely heavy, you know that?" She untied the hose from around her waist and reached a hand down to help him up.

"So I've heard," Chris said, slipping his hand into hers as well as using the well to get back onto his feet again. "Let's just get the hell out of here before something else happens."

"Hear, hear," Regan agreed, turning to head back to the hummer with him.

_4:07 PM_

Regan told Chris she could drive them to Fairplay, but he insisted on it. After what had just happened in the caverns, he needed the distraction. But he did go into the RV to wash up just a bit and change into dry clothing before he looked at himself in the mirror with the three days worth of beard growing on his face now.

He felt old, rolling his eyes over the thought before he left the bathroom and started heading back to the hummer. Shannon had asked if she could stay in the RV with Dutch while they drove into Fairplay for the battery, and Regan thought about it, deciding it wouldn't hurt when she asked Chris how far away it was to find out that it wouldn't take that long to reach. She simply made sure that Shannon kept the other radio handy.

Getting the hummer started had been the problem they were worried about, but thankfully it came on with the first try, probably still had a slight bit of juice left in the battery and was simply being ornery from time to time. Next time might not be so lucky, so they still needed to stop for the part, so their plans hadn't changed any.

But Chris sat in the hummer for a moment after he'd turned it on, reflecting over everything that had just happened. He felt numb almost completely, and only snapped out of it when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking over, he saw Regan giving him a neutral, yet concerned look.

"It's not your fault," she started, getting the feeling that this was about Tanya and her sister. "None of it is, you did what any of us would've had to. You just had the guts to actually do it."

"That doesn't work for me anymore, Regan. I've been stuck in too many situations like this to try to butter myself up with what I have to do. Besides, it's not what I had to do that's bothering me. I know I didn't have a choice, and I don't feel one damned bit of guilty for ending Tanya's misery early with a mercy shot."

Regan looked a little confused, so she asked him, "Then what _does_ bother you?"

With a sigh of breath, Chris told her, "How easy I can do it, without even thinking. The fact that I _don't_ feel guilt for it." He let out a long sigh of breath and then sat back, grabbing the gear shift. "If I'm not careful, I think I'm going to become a monster anyway."

Putting the car into drive, starting back down the road again, Regan thought about what he'd said, and then she started shaking her head at him. "I don't believe that. I know that given enough, yeah, you'll get empty inside, and I know you've seen more shit than any one person should ever have to. But you only do those things when it's necessary, not because you want to."

Chris scoffed a slight bit, giving Regan a look that said he wasn't convinced, and he told her after he'd glanced back out at the road, "For all I know, everyone I loved is already dead, Regan. My sister, my aunt and uncle. Hell, my partner already died a year ago fighting against this shit, so yeah, tell me what I have left to fight for to keep me human."

He hadn't said the words as if he were full of angst or emotional despair, but instead, said them in a legitimate statement, as if he might've really wanted to know what he had left now. Regan looked ahead and thought about it for a moment, and once she'd gotten her thoughts right, she told him just as plainly, "You could fight for the same thing I do. For Shannon. She already likes you, and believe me, she doesn't just like anyone. I know you get along with her too."

She was right about that, Chris had grown fond of the little girl, which might've been another reason he'd gotten a little pissed when they'd been underground. She was cute and spunky, something like his sister at that age in certain ways, yet so completely different at the same time. Claire was a tomboy when she was eight, and Shannon was more like a little lady from what he could see.

Then Regan added something else that he knew was true. "You can also fight for the notion that your sister could've made it to Dallas already, find out that she has or hasn't for certain before you ever question what you have left. You mentioned an old partner, so what would they have said?"

Finally, Chris smiled. "Something along the same lines. Jill would've told me to get off my sorry ass and go find out if I wasn't so sure about it, and not worry about what I was becoming because I was still human now, and so was she. She'd tell me that's what counted."

Regan smiled over the way he'd put that. "She sounds like she was a smart woman."

"She was," Chris agreed, "and she could put a headlock on someone even better than I could it seemed like."

That made Regan grin. She was glad she'd found a way to snap Chris out of his little funk for the moment as they continued on to Fairplay, knowing that what he'd had to do in those caverns had to have been awful. That poor girl. Regan didn't even want to imagine what she'd gone through, or anyone else in the town for that matter, with that huge spider hunting them all down. It was horrific - completely horrific.

As she'd thought about it, she heard Chris adding the words, "You're right about Shannon though, I've gotten pretty fond of her. How do you know she likes me so much?"

"She told me when you were hooking up the jumper cables to the RV. She said you're nice, you're funny, and you know how to shoot a gun which matters now."

Chris found himself grinning. He hadn't known Shannon for terribly long, but that sounded like something she would've said. "I'll have to tell her I like her back. You know what she said when I asked her if she had any boyfriends?" He glanced over to see Regan shaking her head with a smile on her face, then looked back at the road again. "She said she had five more years at least."

Regan laughed out loud. "That's her foster father Clyde talking there. He was extremely protective of her."

Chris was still smiling, though the statement got him to thinking about the whole foster parents thing again. Glancing over at Regan, he knew she wasn't all that old, so he could only assume that she might've had Shannon too young, and had to give her up for a while. Hell, now seemed like the best time to ask, so why not. He definitely wasn't against getting to know her.

"You never explained that by the way. Why does Shannon have foster parents?"

Regan let out a little sigh, saying, "I got pregnant when I was fifteen. That didn't go over well with my parents being the upright, well-to-do, high class society figures they were, and they had adoptive parents lining up at the door like I wanted to sell her to the highest bidder."

That sounded extremely shitty. Chris couldn't imagine it actually, not seeing how much Regan loved her daughter. He couldn't help glancing over at her when she'd told him that, listening when she went on, "Clyde and Linda got to know me when I was seven months along, and promised me that they wouldn't keep her from me, that if I ever wanted to see her, all I had to do was ask. They knew what kind of people my parents were, which was all about appearance, and they got the adoptive rights."

"Didn't they ask you what _you_ wanted?"

"No, because of the situation." Regan hesitated, knowing she'd have to explain it now, but she didn't seem to thrilled about it. Finally, she told him, "I was date raped. Shannon's real father was a guy I'd been seeing for about half a year in high school, and one night I thought I might've been interested, but I realized I was quite ready yet. But he took no as go, and three months later I found out I was pregnant with his child."

She stopped speaking for a moment after that like she were trying to put her words together right in her head, glancing back outside of the window when she finished her story. "But I'd always been the rebellious teen, and I did it on purpose because I hated how my parents always wanted me to be perfect. But Matt on the other hand was a straight A student, completely impervious to imperfections, and I was too ashamed to admit I'd been raped the night it happened. So when I found out I was pregnant, I had no other choice but to blow the whistle on him. Of course Matt denied it though, and they took his word over mine, thought I was lying to try to get out of trouble, and didn't give me a choice over the situation."

Chris had furrowed his brows. Teenagers or not, what kind of sorry sack of shit would do something like that? But he was even more impressed that Regan had wanted to have anything to do with Shannon after being date raped, which he asked her about. "You still wanted her even though you'd been raped?"

Regan smiled a little, explaining, "Oh, at first I was completely horrified. But after a while I realized that the baby was just as much a victim as I was, and didn't deserve to be deprived of life just because the sperm donor was too stupid to know what the word no meant. I knew that I was her only means of survival when I realized that, because my parents wanted me to abort. So I wanted to keep her because it felt like she was all I had left in a way."

Chris could admire that. It prompted him to say, "You did all of that, but you don't think you can get her to Dallas by yourself."

Regan smirked, "Maybe I can, but I know my chances are much better with you around. I only came after you for her sakes after all," she teased him.

Chris could hear the teasing in her voice, and he said, "I'll remember that," which made Regan snicker.

After a few moments of silence, Regan suddenly said, "It's kind of funny, isn't it?"

"What's that?"

"Well, us, feeling shitty about having a little mercy. You took mercy on Tanya, and I took mercy on Shannon. If I'd known then what the world was going to end up like...," she shook her head slowly, trailing off.

"Don't say that," Chris told her, "having her back then has nothing to do with now. It should just tell you that you're stronger than you think."

That made Regan smile genuinely. But instead of giving him some endearing response, she just looked at him and said teasingly, "Well aren't you just a sweety."

"Don't tell anyone, I like to keep it a secret," he joked back, glad for the reprieve while it lasted. Sadly, he got the feeling it wasn't going to last for long before they were both back at it again, being threatened and surviving anyway they knew how.


	13. Sighting

_Chapter 12 - Sighting_

_December 1__st__, 2007_

_Fairplay, Colorado_

_4:49 PM_

Dusty and breezy, the mountain town of Fairplay was like, well, something out of the wild west - that was, _old school_ wild west. The buildings had sidewalks in front of them made out of wooden beams instead of cement, there were actually wagons settled in front of some of the establishments. Chris and Regan worried that more horses might show up due to the western feel nearly the entire place had, and for a brief moment, they wondered if there was even a car shop around since apparently they'd traveled back in time from how it felt by the looks of things.

But Chris didn't go through the town however. His destination was on the outskirts of town so he thankfully wouldn't have to travel through it necessarily. Also - equally as thankfully - there was a gas station next door to the auto parts store according to the GPS on his cell phone, so he wouldn't have to go far to get gas - which he was beginning to need.

Surely enough, they found the auto parts shop settled on the roadside behind a somewhat large parking lot that it shared with the gas station next to it, as well as a warehouse that looked like it was used for mechanical repairs next to the store. Chris pulled into the gas station and parked several feet away from the pumps where he had a good view of all three buildings, getting his weapons together.

He took care of refueling the hummer from what was left in his canisters first. During that time, Regan got Shannon out of the RV and put her back into the hummer after using the bathroom quickly. Once Shannon was settled with Dutch, Regan and Chris took up the task of getting whatever gas they could from the pumps and taking it back to the hummer, which was enough to fill two of the canisters they carried with them and fill the tank the rest of the way up. Once that task was done, they went toward the auto parts store for the battery while Shannon and Dutch watched from the Hummer.

Chris had left the hummer running and the doors locked, just incase they had to make a run for it without notice before they could get hold of the battery. He just hoped it wouldn't boil down to that, or even worse, the hummer cutting off and preventing them from making an easy escape. But from the looks of it, the place seemed deserted. Still, one of the first rules of the zombie apocalypse was that looks could be, and usually were, deceiving.

While they headed toward the store, Regan mentioned it, "It looks relatively untouched."

"Hopefully it is so we can be in and out. _Hopefully_."

A single two door sedan parked in the parking lot outside with the doors left wide open was their only warning that anything could have been lurking around the corners. Abandoned cars had to come from somewhere after all. In passing, they didn't outwardly notice anything of substance or use in the seats, and they didn't want to take the time out to look either. The battery was the most important thing to either of them to get in that moment.

Making it past the car and to the door, looking through the windows that led inside of the building and seeing nothing immediately threatening, they went inside with their guns at the ready. Regan had managed to salvage Chris's handgun from where he'd dropped it in the backyard of Tanya's home earlier after he'd been taken underground - her only clue when she'd gone looking for him that something had happened to him - so he wasn't only reliant on his shotgun anymore and could save shells if it were possible.

Inside of the store, which looked pretty empty - except for a single pool of blood on the floor between two isles which gave both of them the sense that they might not get out of this place without running into something despite the calm silence prevailing the air - Chris looked up to notice the directional signs hanging from the metal rafters in the ceiling that pointed out how the store's inventory was categorized.

As he'd looked it over, Regan had followed a path with her eyes to a direction where she'd heard a buzzing sound emanating, and she stopped when she saw the source. Tapping Chris's arm to get his attention briefly, he looked over to see a corpse on the floor, slumped against the wall with a gun laying in the man's lap. There was a blood spattering across the wall behind him, saying he'd committed suicide, probably after being bitten by something. The sound was coming from the flies buzzing around him. After all, the corpse wasn't all that old.

Warning sign number two. This could have been the driver of the car out side. Less likely of making it out of here without seeing something? Very much so, and both Regan and Chris knew it.

"Let's get a move on," Chris said softly in response to that gut feeling he'd just unwittingly shared with her.

Regan closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, then looked in the other direction. Chris had started walking toward the aisle listed as having the batteries in stock, noticing that Regan was heading in behind him, keeping her eyes trained on the area to help him watch his back and let him focus on what they came for because Chris knew what kind of battery they needed better than she did.

As they headed down the aisle where the batteries were stocked up, a soft crunch of sound broke the silence, making them both wonder if they'd stepped on something as they looked down at their shoes. Chris looked down to see a small bolt laying on the floor beneath his foot, and he rolled his eyes over it. But as soon as the relief that it wasn't someone ot something else making the noise came to the both of then, they heard something else almost immediately following that - the sound of a gasped in breath.

Regan looked over at Chris, the sound having come from the end of the isle. They both began making their way there warily, their weapons at the ready when they rounded the corner, aiming, and came to see an injured man settled on the floor against the wall, bleeding from a gash in his chest. He was a bigger man, tan skin and longer hair than most men had which was curly and black and currently matted with grime - or maybe blood.

He looked up at them slowly when they came around the corner to see him, garbling out the words, "_Por...Por favor...ayúdeme_."

"What?," Chris shook his head. He spoke only a limited amount of Spanish, but the words had been too garbled for him to make out fluently even if he did know what they meant.

"He's begging for help," Regan replied.

"You speak Spanish?," Chris asked her.

"_Sí_," Regan replied and nodded back, knowing Chris had to at least understand that word.

With a nod of his head, Chris looked back down the aisle where the batteries were located and told Regan, "Okay, find out what happened and I'll get the battery while you do."

Regan gave Chris a nod of affirmation as he went for their part and then she turned to the injured man and crouched down across from him, looking at the slash on his chest, the bright crimson staining his otherwise white t-shirt. It was a rather deep wound, one she doubted he'd survive considering the situation, but more than that, Regan wondered what in the hell had done it to begin with.

In the effort of finding out, she asked him in Spanish, "_Qué ha pasado_?"

"_Atacado...por...un monstruo con...una lengua larga_."

Regan's brows narrowed over those words, half wondering if she'd understood him right. He'd been attacked by a monster with a long tongue? What did that mean? Deciding he was probably delirious, she asked him when it had happened by saying, "_Cuándo ocurrió esto_?"

"_Hace...hace una hora..._"

About an hour ago. Regan nodded, asking his name then, "_Cuál es su nombre_?"

"Antonio...," the man replied. Then he started saying a few things as if trying to tell a story, but the fragments of words made little to no sense to Regan, and he was even using a little English mixed in, saying that he'd just been speaking his first language out of habit. The best sense she could make of anything was when he said, "_Mi primo _Miguel_...Se disparó por ahí...en el suelo. Hace unos días, un hombre...con grafas del sol y...ojos rojos del diablo..._," and he then spoke in English fully, "hurt Miguel bad...he was in..._demasiado dolor_..."

Antonio then turned his murky brown eyes back up to Regan and added, "So he...shot himself. Miguel knew he couldn't...go on..." With that, he gasped in another pained breath and said, "_Por favor...ayuda..._"

"Shush, it's okay," Regan told him, but she had no idea how to help him or even if it really was okay or not, but years of soothing a scared child or a hurt child had trained her to react that way automatically and act as confident about it as possible, regardless of the bleakness of the situation. It was obvious to her he had minutes of life left if even that long, and barely anything he'd said made any sense to her at all. She really was doubting he even knew what he was talking about.

Shaking his head in response to Regan's attempt at comfort, Antonio motioned to her gun, and then grunted as if in severe pain, saying, "_Mátame..._"

Regan stared at him as Chris came back around the corner, carrying the battery he needed, in time to hear Antonio repeating the word _Mátame_ again. It wasn't an expression Chris was completely familiar with, but he did notice Regan's expression in response, and it was grim.

"What's he saying?"

"He wants us to kill him," Regan replied, looking over at Chris. "He said a monster with a long tongue attacked him about an hour ago," she shrugged, "you know anything like that, or is it just delirious talk?"

Chris stared down at the man, and began shaking his head. "I wish it was just delirious, but I've heard of it before, and it's not good." Lickers, Chris thought to himself. They'd have to get out of there, and fast.

He was about to suggest that Regan take the battery and get back to the hummer when the situation only further escalated by her radio going off, which was turned down a good bit, but she could still hear it and she picked it up. Shannon sounded panicked on the other end. "Mama! There's something out there! Something on the roof!" In addition to the words, Regan could hear Dutch growling in the background.

"We're coming," Regan said, putting her radio back on her belt before she jumped when Antonio's body suddenly began to jolt. Chris wasted no time, aiming his weapon and pulling the trigger, shooting Antonio right in the head before he could mutate into what Chris knew was going to be a Licker. Regan didn't have the time to consider how he'd had to make two mercy shots in one day, only had enough time to move away from the scene with the man after what they'd just heard on the radio. After all, hearing there was something on the roof didn't mean it was exactly 'let's stand around and discuss what it might be' time.

As they headed down the isle quickly, they heard a thud above them, followed by a clattering sound and then something metal hitting the floor - apparently a vent that had just been busted open - and Chris turned back to aim, causing Regan to stop and spin around just a few feet behind him, staring up at the ceiling as well. They knew the threat would be coming from the roof since Shannon had warned them both, and when they saw nothing, Regan turned to look at the door and make sure all was clear, when another vent burst open from the ceiling and something leapt from it, moving pretty swiftly, too swiftly to see clearly. Their only clue it was on the floor was the thud it'd made from between some aisles several feet away, and Chris knew that was the queue to just run.

"Come on," he said and grabbed Regan's upper arm, then suddenly jerked her to the side when a licker that was crawling down the front of the glass outside of the store jumped into the doorway, blocking their path completely.

Regan didn't know what had happened exactly as she stumbled back next to Chris and then saw the _thing_ that had blocked their way. Aside from aiming her own weapon, all she could really get out was the word, "What!"

Suddenly an aisle started to fall as the other licker jumped on top of it, items crashing down to the floor everywhere, and Chris took aim at the first Licker in the doorway, his motions jarring Regan from her shocked stupor.

Shannon could see the flash of gunfire near the door from where she sat in the hummer, and Dutch was getting adamant about wanting out of the car, wouldn't sit still. Shannon was too terror stricken to move though, staring at the front and just hoping to see her mother and Chris emerging when something in the corner of her vision drew her to turn her head slowly to the left and toward the driver's side of the car. Her green eyes spotted a woman with half of her face missing and her hair thinned from falling out of her head moving from the gas station they were parked outside of and toward the hummer slowly.

Dutch turned toward her direction and started barking and growling at her.

The canine had placed himself between Shannon and the approaching zombie even though there was a locked car door in the way, but that didn't stop Shannon from screaming when the zombie made it to the window, the walking corpse reaching up in order to beat her hands against the glass - which didn't budge under her pounding. Blood smeared across the window from a previous meal the woman had been eating perhaps, and Shannon forced herself to look away, didn't want to see it anymore, while Dutch continued barking and snarling protectively.

But it was in that moment that Shannon heard a bad sound - even worse than the muffled moaning of the woman outside beating on the car door to try to get to her. The sound was of the hummer sputtering out, the battery apparently dying out the car. Shannon panted, looking up to see that neither Chris or Regan had come out of the shop yet, or they had and she just couldn't see them, but she knew she couldn't sit in the backseat and do nothing.

So, while still panting, she crawled up into the front seat and reached for the keys in the ignition. The zombie turned and headed up next to her, pounding against the glass again, which caused Shannon to stumble to the side quickly in fear, but then she narrowed her brows as the insistent monster. With a good bit of determination, Shannon pushed herself forward and grabbed the door lock and the handle. From there, she unlocked it for a moment, then pushed on the door as hard and suddenly as she could as if to open it, knocking the zombie over and onto it's back completely.

"And _stay_ down!," Shannon yelled at the Zombie as it'd fallen and she slammed the door shut and locked it again, then went back to the keys.

She turned them in the ignition and listened as the engine sputtered, letting go after a few minutes like she'd seen her mother and Chris doing when they'd tried to start the car earlier. She continued panting while she turned the keys a second time, hitting the steering wheel with her hand while chanting, "Come on, come on, come on!"

Still, the car stubbornly refused to start. The Zombie outside was slowly working its way back up in order to come back and taunt her again, but Shannon continued to focus on the task she was trying to perform, though she wished the stupid Zombie could take a hint. Turning the keys a third time, holding them down, she yelled loudly, "Start!," and hit the side of her fist into the dashboard. Suddenly, the car cranked up and turned back on, revving to life completely.

The sudden response made Shannon jump back, startled because she was already so scared, but her fright soon turned to a big, bright smile, proud of herself for getting the hummer back on again.

But the zombie who'd stood back up was getting closer again now, and Shannon decided she'd just have to use the door to knock the woman over a second time. Before she could move at all however, a gunshot sounded and blood erupted from the side of the woman's head. Shannon glanced over from the sight quickly to see Chris heading toward the hummer with a smoking gun in hand, Regan behind him, moving around to the passenger's side.

Shannon got into the middle of the seat and gave them both room, unlocking the doors first on each side, and once they were in the car and settled, she grabbed her mother and asked her urgently, "Did you get it!"

"Yeah, we got it," Regan rushed out, shutting her door and locking it while Chris got behind the wheel and put the hummer into drive. "Floor it!"

Regan couldn't help but say that, and Chris had to agree. There'd been more than two Lickers in that place, and they'd had to take a backdoor in order to get out while at least three of the monsters were following them. He stepped on the gas and turned the wheel in order to head back to the road as swiftly as possible, seeing one of the creatures heading around the corner as the vehicle drove by it, splashing water from an old mud puddle up and over the monster who let a shriek out behind them.

As the hummer got back onto the road, and things started to finally calm down a bit, Regan hugged Shannon and kissed the top of her head, reassuring her with words that everything was okay now, that they were going to be fine. Chris glanced over at them, still breathing heavily and calming down from his own adrenaline high, seeing that Shannon was shaken up but otherwise she was alright, and he patted the back of her head. He'd heard her trying to restart the hummer, knew she'd had to be brave enough to do it when he'd seen the zombie in the parking lot, and he put both hands back onto the wheel after offering her a little wordless comfort.

Shannon looked up and back over at him when she felt the pat to her head, telling him as if she'd just gotten a daunting task done which even she didn't believe of herself, "The hummer turned off. But I got it back on."

"I know, I heard it," he told her with a smile and a nod of his head. "You did good. Especially knowing there was a zombie outside."

Shannon gave him a nod in response, then said as she continued breathing heavily, "I was more scared for you and mama than I was for me. The monster kept hitting the window, so I knocked it over with the door so it'd leave me alone."

Chris couldn't help but smile over that, replying with a nod, "That's the easiest way to beat them."

"What?," Shannon asked, confused.

"By using your head, because they're not so bright. I'm just sorry you had to see me shooting it."

Shannon stared at him for a moment, and then she clibmed out of her mother's lap and reached over to hug his side, which hadn't been something Chris had expected. He looked down at her for a moment, but then laid his arm over her back as she told him, "It's okay, Chris. If I were you, I would've shot too. I'm just glad it's dead now and it can't hurt anyone else."

Chris patted her back, deciding she was right. "That's true, it won't hurt anyone now."

Regan couldn't help but smile at the sight of the eight year old hugging the man, somehow getting the feeling that Shannon was becoming extremely attached to Chris. She didn't just hug anyone that way, and somehow, she thought it would be good for Chris to have a kid like her looking up to him as well. After all, she was learning a little more about Chris, and though he had a somewhat gruff nature, weathered from years of dealing with this kind of thing, there was a normal guy mixed in as well, a human one that showed up on the rare calm occasions they got from time to time. He'd said he was afraid of becoming a monster despite the fact that he was still human, so what better way was there to remind yourself of your humanity than by getting the love and admiration of a child? Regan couldn't really think of many just then.

Shannon sat back after a moment and she looked up at Chris, and then over at Regan, asking, "When are you going to change the battery?"

"I wanna get as far down the road as we can before I stop," Chris explained, "then we'll change it and find a place to spend the night."

"Okay," Shannon nodded, and leaned against her mother when Regan put an arm over her shoulders.

Regan smiled at Shannon, proud of her for getting the hummer started again, and she rubbed Shannon's arm comfortingly. For an eight year old, doing that had to be quite a feat. She wished Shannon didn't have to, wished they were already in Dallas, wished that Shannon had never even heard of a monster at all. But this wasn't a world where you got what you wished for, and maybe in the long run, Regan could actually be thankful for this incident, because it might help to teach Shannon some self reliance, no matter how hard the lessons were to learn, and help her to survive for longer.

While Regan was having the thoughts, Chris had his own, wanted to ask her while he had the chance about what the guy in the store had been saying to her, but he didn't want Shannon to know there'd been a man in there who hadn't made it out and possibly scare her even more. She'd seen enough for one day, the zombie getting shot, and knowing that Tanya and her little sister hadn't made it, so Chris really didn't want to add anything else to the little girl's plate.

It was close to half an hour later before Chris had stopped the car at all, and Shannon had gone into the RV as requested to use the bathroom while Dutch wandered around in the grass, sniffing about. Shannon told Regan that she would take a few minutes, and actually cracked a little joke that if she needed help, she'd radio it in because she was taking her radio with her, which had Regan laughing softly - and feeling a little relieved. After all, Shannon was still miraculously smiling and cracking jokes, and that was a good sign. But Regan would still keep a close eye on her for any withdrawn behavior, make sure to take notice of the child's actions.

While she waited outside of the RV for Shannon, and Chris was working with the hood of the hummer propped up so that he could get the battery changed, he called Regan's name, and she looked over, then headed toward him. He'd just pulled out the old battery and was putting the new one in now, and when Regan got within earshot, he asked her, "What did that guy in the store say to you? Anything else useful other than what attacked him?"

Regan thought about that for a moment as Chris continued hooking the new battery up. Shaking her head, she said, "No, not really, at least, not anything that made sense. He said his name was Antonio, and mentioned that the man we saw on the floor who killed himself was his cousin, Miguel. He said they ran into a man who hurt his cousin pretty badly, and he said that was the reason his cousin had decided to kill himself, because he couldn't go on the way he was. He was out of it though, saying some crazy shit, but hell, maybe he did know what he was talking about. I just don't know why he wanted to tell me about it to begin with unless he was just trying to convince me to kill him."

Chris looked over at Regan, his brows narrowing, deciding that did sound a little strange. So he asked the only thing he could think of. "What kind of crazy shit?"

"Well, let me think," Regan replied and thought over the words in her head again, "the crazy part was _un hombre con grafas del sol y ojos rojos del diablo_, which means a man with sunglasses and red eyes of the devil. Maybe he just meant one of those Crimson–"

Regan stopped suddenly when she heard the wrench Chris had been using to replace the battery clattering as it fell out of his hand, and she glanced over to see him staring at her. "What?," she asked in confusion.

Chris couldn't ignore the implication of what she'd just told him, and he sighed out his breath and looked back down for his wrench, grabbing it again when he found it while taking this information in. Instead of answering, Chris asked her, "Did he say where?"

Regan shook her head, "No, he only mentioned that it was like a day or two ago I think."

Using the wrench to secure the battery into the hummer, Chris asked steadily, "A man with sunglasses on and red eyes of the devil? You're sure that's what he said?"

"Yeah," Regan drew out, "Why is that so important?"

Finishing with the bolt and pulling his arms up to lean a bit while considering things, Chris replied, "Albert Wesker."

Regan blinked, brows narrowing when he suddenly spit out what sounded to her like a random name. "Who?"

With a sigh of breath, Chris explained, "He always wears shades because he's not human and his eyes show that. But he wore shades even before that, and he's _not_ good news. If this Antonio guy saw him a few days ago, then we don't need to be around here for very long because he could show up. Hell, for all I know he's following me."

Regan tried to take that in, and to make sure she was understanding him right, she asked, "You mean this Albert Wesker guy?"

"Yeah."

"Why would he be following you? Who is he exactly?"

Chris had gone about his task of hooking up the battery while he informed Regan, "He'd be following me because he hates my guts and would love nothing more than to see me dead. He used to be a researcher for Umbrella, one of the people who created the T Virus, and more than likely, he's behind this entire outbreak."

Regan's brows narrowed thoughtfully, unable to stop herself from asking with a bit of disbelief in her tone, "You mean the missile attacks and _everything_?"

"Yeah, everything," Chris nodded. "He's been a top priority of my organization to find and capture or kill for years now, but he keeps eluding us, staying a step ahead. He's smart, has more connections than Jerry Rice has touchdowns, and he knows how to use them."

Chris was putting the finishing touches on the battery as he'd said that, and Regan watched him putting his tools up so he could shut the hood, standing back as he did just that. "Wait a minute though, how do you know it's the same guy Antonio ran into? It could've been anyone wearing shades...with red eyes...of the...devil...," she drew out the last part as if even _she_ didn't believe herself and then cleared her throat a bit sheepishly. "Alright, so it's him."

Chris gave her a pointed, knowing look as he walked past her to throw the tools he had back into the hitch on the hummer where he had a tool box stored up, and one the way back there, he replied, "I'm sure it's him, and I can probably bet my own ass he's behind all of this, and maybe even after me now."

"Then why is he after you?," Regan asked immediately, watching Chris loading the tools he'd grabbed back up. "What'd you do to him?"

Scoffing, Chris informed her, "It's a damned long story. The short of it is that he used to be the Captain of a police team I was on. Remember the story I told you about the Arklay Mountains?" When Regan nodded, Chris added, "That was the team. He lured us there and betrayed us. I just managed to stop his plans and now he hates my guts for it, among other things."

Regan pursed her lips while Chris opened the door for Dutch and let the dog in. Once he shut it again, she asked, though hearing what Chris had just told her, she felt she might've already known the answer, "What's he capable of?"

"Honestly?," Chris asked while going to the driver's side door. As he sat down behind the wheel with his work boots still on the pavement, and Regan nodded her head at him, wanting to know the entire truth, he said, "Anything. He injected himself with a virus and it's given him inhuman abilities, speed, strength, probably better senses as far as we know. He's heartless and calculating, and it's nothing for him to use _anyone_, including children," he told Regan that pointedly because of Shannon, "to get what he wants."

"Sounds like a real winner," Regan muttered sarcastically, and then watched Chris going to turn the hummer on. The car cranked right up without any hitches this time, and Chris looked back over at her.

"Go get Shannon. We need to drive a little more before the sun goes down. I wanna as fucking far away from here as possible."

Nodding, Regan headed back to the RV and got Shannon before she went back to the hummer. Shannon had been playing her handheld, a PSP she'd had for a while, which Regan could only imagine was because Shannon wanted to distract herself. They'dhad the PSP loaded into the suitcase, and the batteries had gone dead, so Shannon wanted to wait before she used the last batteries they had left to use them because she never knew when she might really want to play it. But Shannon put the handheld up and went with Regan back to the hummer, while Regan wondered briefly if Shannon was as okay as she'd acted.

Once inside the hummer and ready to go, Chris put his phone back down from checking his GPS and took off down the road again. As he went, he explained to Regan, "We can take 285 to Salida, swing around it to U.S. 50, and that will take us back to I-25 and into New Mexico. We should cross the state border sometime tomorrow as long as we can keep things going smoothly."

"Well, we just got some gas, and the battery shouldn't be dying any time soon now," Regan pointed out, trying her best to be optimistic despite everything, finishing her line by saying, "so I think there's a good chance of that. Hopefully."

_December 2__nd__, 2007_

_U.S. Highway 50, outside of Salida, Colorado_

_11:37 AM_

Salida had been the epitome of what beautiful, small mountainside towns in America were - a perfect remote location for a vacation, with scenic views and friendly faces. Those faces had changed overtime of course, but the landscapes remained scenic in the least. Sadly, that wasn't enough to keep the tourism coming in.

But as fate, or potentially bad luck would have had it, tourism picked up that morning when there was more than just a hummer with an RV attached to it traveling by the area on route 285. There was another vehicle - a black suburban - that was traveling down highway 50 and through the area as well, one that had made a pit stop at a gas station, a black suburban that - with no one inside of it making it look just like every other abandoned car around - was ignored by the hummer that had just pulled into the lot and drove around to park toward the right side of the building.

The hummer wasn't unseen in movement though, prying eyes picking it up from across the way a few roads over on a roof top in the neighborhood.

As the hummer with the RV attached to it pulled in, a button was pressed on a PDA for a message to be sent, the words noting, "There could be a slight complication."

"_What?_"

"Some travelers are driving into town, survivors not affiliated with the target, probably heading to Dallas."

"_It doesn't matter. Take them out as well if necessary. As long as Wesker is taken out, that's what matters. He's getting too close for comfort now._"

The order had been given and would be obeyed.


	14. Reunion

_Chapter 13 - Reunion_

_ December 1__st__, 2007_

_ Dallas, Texas_

_ 9:45 PM_

Fewer casualties were coming in from local search and rescue missions the past day or two, which was a relief. But the national reports were still much too high for anyone's liking. That, though, was going to be a number that would continue to increase for a while to come as they continued to gather data on the living and the dead - not to mention those in between.

She considered that as she'd used her thumb to dial a number on a cellular phone, then idly messed with the golden wedding band around her ring finger while she waited. The name _Chris Redfield_ popped up onto the screen, and the words _sending call..._ appeared just beneath it. On the table as the phone dialed the number was a styrofoam cup of coffee and a paper listing names of people who hadn't been accounted for in all of this, and Chris's name was on that list, along with several phone numbers jotted down in black ink for services, one of which was a broadcast station in Dallas.

She watched the phone dialing until finally it all it said was _call failed_.

That was the millionth time, so it didn't shock Claire anymore. She just settled the phone down onto the table and grabbed the styrofoam cup she'd been sipping some coffee from before she stood up. Now, if she'd heard it actually ringing, _then_ she would have reacted, maybe even dropped the phone altogether. She'd been trying to contact her brother for two weeks now without any luck. The last place they knew he was at was Pinedale, Wyoming, and they'd sent in a chopper about two days after this had all started only to find that he wasn't there, and Pinedale was completely wiped out.

The place was crawling with the undead just like everywhere else, so it stood to reason Chris wouldn't have been able to stick around. He'd probably made a break for it, which would make him nearly impossible to find in this shitty ass world.

Claire walked to a trash can and threw her cup away, then she stretched and decided to give up for the time being. It was a new nightly ritual of hers to spend two hours in the lobby each evening after work, trying to contact her brother through all numbers that she knew he could possibly have with her - sometimes more than once - before taking a break and then trying again when and if she couldn't sleep - which seemed to be the case about every other night or so. Turning, she walked back to the table where she'd been sitting in one of the complex's lounge rooms with her paper of listings for a good bit of the evening, and picked up her things, stopping for a moment to look at the picture of herself and her brother she'd set as the wallpaper on her cell phone before she sighed out a soft breath.

Chris was out there somewhere. She knew he was, and she was going to find him if it was the last thing she did. Claire just hoped he wasn't trying to find her, and knew to go to Dallas instead of looking around aimlessly.

As she had the thought, she heard her name being asked, "Claire?"

The familiar voice caught her attention, and she looked from the picture on her phone and over at the doorway into the longue room. Leon was standing there leaning against the doorframe, and she smiled at him while saying, "Hey, I was just about to go back to the room."

He nodded in response, "I came by to help, or go with you. Seems like I've done all I can for the night anyway, and your uncle's given me the order to get some sleep."

Claire smirked when he mentioned that, replying, "Sounds like Uncle George. You think he's still sore about it, don't you?" She asked that question as she began to walk to the door where he was standing.

Leon smirked, and once Claire got there, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss from her, then asked, "For eloping with his niece without saying anything first? Nah, I think he's fine with that now." He smirked, then added thoughtfully, "But I do think he's sore that I haven't found his nephew yet."

Claire smiled, leaning against him as he turned, lifting an arm up and behind his back as he put one over her shoulders. Just over a week ago, Leon and Claire had eloped - it was pretty much just a courthouse marriage which meant signing the papers - without telling anyone they were going to do it. After Harvardville and the events there at the city's airport, they'd kept in touch a good bit more than normal, and had gone out on a few dates whenever they got the chance. Things hadn't gotten completely serious, but they could both tell it was heading that way if it kept up.

So when the outbreaks occurred, when the world went into the state it was in, and Leon managed to get Claire out of Virginia where she'd been doing work prior to the events, the two of them went to Atlanta together where one of the quarantined havens was located. Things were extremely shaky, the world going to hell in a handbasket, and Claire worked hard in Atlanta to see to it that as much help and assistance as she could possibly muster for the victims of the attacks could be given while Leon did everything he could to try to find out who was behind all of this and put a stop to it.

When work was over - which it rarely seemed to be - they sought comfort with each other, the rest of the world in shambles around them, all of it a living nightmare they clung to one another in order to survive in. Through it all they realized that with the sorry state of the world now, they were extremely lucky to even know one another, let alone be friends at all.

So the next step seemed like a no-brainer to the both of them. Claire's Uncle had gotten in touch with her from Dallas the day after they'd eloped, and when she and Leon arrived in Dallas with wedding rings on their fingers, George and Tracy were both a good bit surprised. But considering the way things were, neither one of them were angry - though they _did_ make the two promise to do it right whenever a chance was had.

Claire had promised, and she headed back to the apartment she had on the military base with Leon now as she'd thought it all over, closing her eyes on the elevator while leaning against him because she was a little worn out that evening.

Leon noticed how tired she looked, and he lifted his fingers to brush the backs of his knuckles against her jaw before asking, "Long day?"

"Uh huh," Claire nodded her head. "But it was a long day settling people in instead of just getting them set up, so it was a _nice_ long day for once."

She looked up to see him smiling at her, and with a nod over her comment while the elevator came to a stop, the doors opening, Leon replied, "That's a good thing. It means they're getting more done out there than they had been. We'll be able to expand the search and rescue area soon now."

"Mmm hmm," Claire drew out lazily, heading down the hallway once they were off of the elevator. The building they were living in now was a skyscraper, a former convention center with a hotel that had been seized by the US Government to be used as a military base of operations in recovery of, well, the entire country, and the hotel had been turned into something more of an apartment building since people needed the space.

The rooms were being used for military personnel and their families only in that particular hotel, but others had been seized and done the same things with for civilians in other areas around the city. After all, no one was traveling and using hotels in that fashion anymore, and likely wouldn't be for a long time to come now.

"Did anything interesting happen for you today?," Claire asked Leon as they stopped at their door and he swiped the keycard to unlock it.

Leon seemed to hesitate for a moment, stopping at their door to swipe their keycard and unlock it before he finally told her, "The same things really. We try to get a lead, try to get back more of our satellite control, and it just keeps blocking us out."

Claire pursed her lips, walking in with him and allowing him to shut the door as she stepped inside and turned the lights on for the both of them before she pinned her paper list back to a board they'd put near the entryway and she asked, because of his pause, "You're starting to think there's back stabbers in our own government, aren't you?"

"Back stabbers, or some severally duped people," Leon replied. "I'm also starting to think less that it's Albert Wesker behind it."

That _did_ surprise Claire. She looked over at him while he tugged off his gun harnesses and hung them across the back of a chair in the living room, then went for his belt to unbuckle it while she walked over and folded her arms across her chest because it was just a little chilly in the apartment, stopping near him. "Why is that?," she asked curiously.

Leon shook his head at her with the words, "I know he's capable, but why now?" Tugging his belt feet of the loops to settle down with his gun harness, he turned to face Claire and went on, "Wesker's had the T Virus for a long time now, and a lot of other agents as well. But we've only seen the T Virus in this outbreak. No reports of Las Plagas, no G Virus so far that we know of, we haven't heard anything about T Veronica," he then shook his head, "or anything else, so it makes no sense. Maybe he was waiting until he had the influence to do this, but just using the T Virus makes no sense. Why collect all those other viral agents if the T Virus was all he wanted to use?"

"Well, it doesn't make sense to do this to the world anyway," Claire pointed out, then she turned and walked over to the thermostat and turned it up because it was just too cold for the winter night they were having to be as low as it was, and as she did this, she added, "but I'm not saying you're wrong. I just hate to think there's someone _else_ out there with the resources and capabilities to do this kind of thing."

"I know," Leon replied in agreement, and when she moved in closer, he grabbed her arm and pulled her over a bit faster than she'd been moving alone, slipping his hands around her lower back. "But if it's _wasn't_ Wesker, then maybe he's dead already."

"_There_ would be some good news," Claire grinned up at him, leaning against him and laying her cheek on his chest.

Leon was smirking over the way she'd said that, standing there with her for a few moments silently while letting the business of the day flow away from him. He wanted to enjoy his quiet time alone with his new wife, and he tugged her ponytail down for her so he could run his fingers through her hair, which he found to be personally soothing. After a few moments had passed with nothing between them but, well, their clothing currently and a little silence, he changed the subject from work related issues to, "Still no luck with Chris on your end either, huh?"

"Not yet," Claire replied. "I'm still calling that radio station every night though, the one that does the emergency broadcasts and takes personal calls for people with missing family or friends. Their DJ, Tom knows me by name now," she informed him softly. "He offered to just repeat my message every night until I called him back with the news that I'd found Chris, but I declined because if I wasn't listening, and Chris called, I'd shoot myself."

Leon couldn't help a little snort of amusement over the way she'd put that. After all, if Claire was anything at all, it was dedicated to family and those she loved. Leon tilted her head up and leaned down to kiss her again, a slow kiss that was filled with affection, and once he'd broken it off, he said, "I don't think you need to worry. Chris will probably march in here all by himself with a pair of shades on looking like a million bucks."

The image Claire got in her head made her snicker, because it was just so humorous considering Chris's reputation. Shotgun slung over his shoulder, he'd probably march right in, light up a cigarette, and say something like 'Where the hell have you guys been? I just took care of this entire problem by myself.' Grinning, she informed Leon after she'd had the thought that, "I'm still calling him out on how late he is when he _does_ show up."

Leon couldn't help grinning right back at her, because he was ready to tease his new brother-in-law himself. He'd already asked Claire in the meantime how she thought Chris would react to their marriage, and Claire replied that after punching Leon, he'd probably congratulate them. Leon wasn't sure if he should've laughed or cringed over that.

But he was ready to suggest they go to bed because they'd both had a long day, and get a nice shower together first as well, when a knock came to the door. Leon was sorely tempted to ignore it, but all things considered, he knew whoever it was probably didn't want to stay, not at this hour anyway. So he told her, "Why don't you go get a shower started. I'll get that."

Claire nodded in reply and gave him another kiss before she stood on her own and let him head to the door while she decided to take his advice to heart.

Leon looked through the peephole while simultaneously unlocking the door, and he smiled over who he saw. The man's name was Jeremy Porter, but most people called him Falcon. He was an older guy who'd fought in the Vietnam War, being a pilot in the air force, had tattoos on both of his arms, a head of wiry silver hair and a beard on his face, and for all intents and purposes, was probably one of the friendliest and most joking guys Leon knew in Dallas. Falcon was always nice to have around because his humor was a welcome distraction from, well, the bullshit they were dealing with daily.

"Falcon, hey," he said as he got the door open, "what brings you by this time of night?"

The older man looked over when Leon greeted him and grinned, reaching out to shake his hand, "Hey Leon," he greeted happily, "haven't seen ya around in a few days, must be buried in work again, huh?"

"They like to try to," Leon smirked.

"Yeah man," Falcon agreed with a sigh of breath, "I heard that. But as you can imagine I didn't come by for a cup of tea to shoot the breeze over, even though I'd like to. General Redfield asked me to bring this up to you. He would've done it personally, but he'd gotten a call he had to check out, so I said I'd be happy to run it by." Falcon held up his hand, an envelope in it, and Leon reached out to take it from him.

As he did, Falcon added, "I'm not particularly sure what it is, but Redfield didn't seem to be very happy about it, so I'd brace myself if I were you. Oh, and he said to tell you he was sorry he couldn't hand it over himself, but you know how things are right now. I've gotta run too. Doing the circling tonight."

"Got it," Leon nodded, knowing Falcon had the duty to take one of the choppers out that circled around the city constantly to assess threats and also look for survivors. He reached over and patted Falcon on the shoulder after he said those words before adding, "Be careful out there. I'll see you around later."

Falcon smirked and gave Leon a mock salute, replying, "Roger that. Tell Claire I hope she's doin' good, would ya? I'll be keepin' an eye out for her brother."

"Thanks, will do," Leon said, smiling, then stepped back into his door, adding, "take care, Falcon," while the man walked off and gave a wave of his hand and a smile back to Leon.

Leon sighed and shut his door, wondering what he might be holding in his hand just then, and he stepped into the living room while pulling the envelope open. Claire was still in the bedroom at that moment, and as he got the papers inside unfolded, she came walking back out in a robe that she'd tied around herself, asking on the way, "Who was that?"

"It was Falcon," Leon replied, eyes still glued to the papers, and suddenly, he exhaled and his head fell slightly to the side as he lamented remorsefully, "Damn it."

"What?," Claire asked, walking over to stand next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder in confused concern.

Leon didn't waste any time in replying, saying, "George just had this sent to me because he knew I was looking for more information." He handed the papers to his wife, who took them and looked them over. It was a report, a confirmation of the death of Barry Burton more specifically. According to the report, his body was found inside a barricaded room inside an office building in the city where he lived in Canada, one that had no exit and no windows, and he'd shot himself after waiting for nearly a week for a potential rescue to happen according to the autopsy. They identified him through a note he'd written to his family, whom he'd been separated from when the outbreaks occurred, and were all surviving in the only Canadian haven there was, which was Calgary in Alberta. The estimated time his body waited to be discovered was five days.

Claire lowered the paper and sighed out a breath. "His gun was empty when they found him, so he didn't have the means to fight them off, last bullet." She looked up at Leon who'd nodded his head, having read through the paper already. Claire didn't know in specific, but Leon did. A good portion of the area where Barry lived had been massively overrun with monsters according to reports, but he'd been hoping Barry would manage to make it out. That was why George had sent him the report - he knew Leon would have wanted to know about it ASAP.

Claire stepped in and hugged him, and Leon let his arms slip around her, resting his chin on top of her head, feeling both disappointed and pissed off at the same time. The only thing he was even remotely glad for - if you could call it glad - was that Barry hadn't been bitten and turned into one of them. He'd died as himself, and didn't have to go through the horror of beating eaten alive. Barry had been a good man and a good friend, so he definitely didn't deserve to go out like that if he'd had to go out at all.

Claire had known Barry too, so she wasn't happy about the news either. And she felt tears stinging her eyes in those moments that she forced back, because she'd thought of Chris again, and she refused to believe a similar fate had happened to him. Suddenly, taking a break from trying to get in touch with Chris didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

Looking up, she said, "I want to go try to call Chris again. See if he'll answer."

Leon didn't have to ask why. He knew, and he wasn't going to stop her either. In fact, he told her, "Go get some warm clothes on."

"Why is that?," Claire asked curiously.

"We'll go up on the roof for a while. Signals might be better up there."

"But," Claire shook her head, "the roof is military personnel only, Leon, do you really think they'll let us hang around up there so I can try to call my brother?"

Leon smirked, "What am I? Chopped liver? I have access, and if I want to bring you along, then you'll be brought along."

Claire couldn't help herself from smiling at him brightly. She knew he would be breaching protocol when it was important to keep it up at the moment, but he was willing to do that for her, as well as freeze his ass off with her outside while trying to wait to see if she had a better signal so she could possibly get in touch with Chris. She threw her arms around him and leaned up to kiss him hard and meaningfully.

Eloping with Leon was the best decision she'd ever made.

_ December 2__nd__, 2007_

_ U.S. Highway 50, Colorado_

_ 9:13 AM_

If there was one thing Cecilia had learned about Wesker, it was that he gave plenty of time for her to make up her mind completely about sticking with him before he ever stopped the Suburban - which was usually only for gas anyway.

The man was a machine apparently. After he'd allowed her to be bitten without offering her a helping hand - a thought that still chaffed her ass a good bit - he'd continued driving, well past the morning time, and only stopped a few hours after the sun came up because his tank was literally about to run out of gas. Cecilia had fallen asleep, and she was still asleep when he'd refueled, negating the possibility of her leaving during the daylight hours. That kind of frustrated her when she woke up, but then she decided that the free ride was nothing to complain over. At this rate, they might have even made it to Dallas by the end of the day.

She asked him if he'd slept at all that day, and Wesker informed her that he slept very little now, but how much she was unsure. It wasn't until that night that he ever stopped to actually get some shuteye, and Cecilia thought she was going to go stir crazy. She'd promised to take up watch and awaken him if anything went wrong - suggesting she might decide not to if she saw anything just out of a need for vengeance after what he'd done to her - but it was as damned boring as those stakeouts she always hated going on when she'd been a police officer.

The man slept for four hours while Cecilia preoccupied herself with reading material - which included whatever she could find. She even read the manual for the suburban they were sitting in to pass the time, and when that made her nod off, she decided to rummage for a little food because she was starving. She found a bag of chips in her duffle, a large bag, and started munching away, using a can of soda to wash it down.

Food needed to go on the scavenging list she realized, when all she could find besides that was a packet of peanut butter crackers and three soda cans in her pouch and her duffel. Wesker hadn't eaten since she'd met him. She briefly wondered if he even had to but decided quickly that she didn't want to know.

He woke up close to dawn, and noticed that Cecilia was still awake, looking her over in the early morning light. "How is your shoulder?"

His voice startled her. She'd become so accustomed to the silence inside of the suburban that words somehow felt foreign just then. "It's fine," she drew out blandly, adding on a sarcastic tone, "thanks for the first aide kit."

Wesker smirked and sat up a bit, "Not a morning person, I see."

With a sigh, Cecilia told him, "Sorry, I feel dirty, I'm hungry, and I don't like you very much. I'd be a little more chipper if it weren't for that."

He seemed amused with her witty replies, but she was seriously wondering how long his amusement might last. Glancing over at her, he said, "We'll be coming across a town today called Salida. Gas is low, so I'll be making a pit stop."

He didn't have to share that information to make her day brighter, but he had, and Cecilia rolled her eyes when he wasn't looking, wishing wouldn't do those kinds of things so she could completely hate him. But she just couldn't when he at least shared information with her like that, could she? He'd risked her life to test a theory, she reminded herself, deciding that if she couldn't completely hate him, she could still give him a hard time whenever the possibility presented itself.

But for the information, she replied, "Good, then while you're doing that, I'll see about getting a little food." Then she glanced over, asking him, "Do you even eat?"

"Yes, and I was just thinking it's about time I had a meal myself."

With a nod of her head, Cecilia let him start up the car and take off down the road. As it turned out, her night watch had been so boring that she was groggy, and the sound of the tires over the pavement was all she needed to doze off for a little while once again.

She didn't wake up for about three hours, when it was getting closer to noon. Wesker had arrived on the outskirts of Salida, Colorado by that time, and he pulled into a gas station that looked particularly empty aside from the abandoned cars here and there and parked the Suburban. Cecilia looked around the place, seeing there was very little damage or the effects of looting visible in the area. It was mostly intact. Still, most of the pumps were inaccessible because of where the cars were settled around them, so Wesker had to park next to the building instead of simply pulling up to them.

She undid her belt buckle and then pulled out her weapon to make sure it was fully loaded and ready to go, as well as turned to the back seat to grab some backup ammo to shove into the pocket of her pullover before she tossed a box to Wesker who had been checking his own armaments. As soon as they were done with the task, Wesker said, "I'll grab the canisters and check the pumps first. Would you rather scavenge the convenience store while I'm doing this or offer a hand?"

"After what happened the other night, I'd rather keep an eye out while you're checking everything," Cecilia informed him, not wanting to let him out of her sights incase he came up with some other crazy theory to test on her.

She swore she could see the faintest hint of a smirk on his face in response to that as well before he opened his door to get out of the car and told her, "As you wish," plain and simply, then began to get the canisters they had from the back of the vehicle.

Cecilia let out a little sigh at his casualness and went with him, heading to the pumps with her gun drawn so that she could help him to check each of them since food was only a second priority considering their situation with fuel currently. Despite Wesker's stop earlier that morning, he hadn't found too terribly much to go by, so hopefully this place would have a little more to offer them both.

They had two full canisters by the time they were done with more gas left, which was like winning the lottery in this situation. Wesker managed to fill his tank up and then reload with gas, which had them all set thankfully. If they had the time, he'd see if he could find another cannister in the station, which would definitely help to lessen their pit stops during their journey. After they loaded up the canisters, they began to head to the door of the store to get some food.

There was a bell attached to the front door of the store, so Cecilia had opened it slowly to keep it from making any sound and reached around to grab the bell and settle it silently in the handle of the opposing side so it wouldn't be a problem at all anymore, then she stepped into the small shop and over a broken bottle that was laying in the doorway. Wesker moved in behind her and they checked the area out for threats first, and when nothing was spotted, they started checking the shelves.

Neither of them had anything to say to one another until Cecilia stood up from hoarding some bags of chips to see that Wesker was eating a Power Bar of all things, and he had a mildly unpleasant look on his face. Something about the sight of it just did _not_ suit, and she couldn't help but suddenly let out a chuckle over it.

"Power bars? Really?," she had to ask him that. "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

He lifted a brow in response, glancing over at her sideways before he told her, "About a week, and these are high in carbohydrates. I'm not fond of them but my metabolism needs that sort of thing."

She didn't really have a retort to that, after all, it made enough sense, but with the way the man dressed and carried himself, the image was simply _not_ suiting. She just shook her head over it however and went back to her hoarding, and didn't notice that Wesker had seemed to have heard something outside. He turned his head as he listened, and then walked around the corner, toward the door, looking outside quietly. Cecilia had stood back up by that time, and Wesker glanced over at her, saying, "Stay here, I think we have company. If they're looters, you could get the drop on them from behind."

He didn't ask, he just said so, and then walked out. Cecilia let a little sigh of breath, deciding that maybe she'd be better off hijacking one of the cars around here and going her own way if things were going to be like this. After all, what had Wesker done for her? Gotten her bitten. On purpose. Then again, what he'd said made sense, so she watched the outside quietly after he'd disappeared.

When she didn't see anything, she began shoving the rest of the items she was going to take with her into her duffel which filled it completely, and she went to see what the hell he might've heard when she herself caught the sound of something above - which was a thud of noise as if someone or perhaps some_thing_ were on the roof. She came to a sudden stop and looked up, grabbing her weapon in preparation.

Outside, Wesker had walked around to the side of the store where he'd parked, but saw no one in sight. The last thing he wanted, after all, was for his vehicle to be taken, and for a split moment, it annoyed him that he had to consider such things right now. But he knew he'd heard a vehicle outside when he was in the store just then, so perhaps whomever had come about just hadn't found his Suburban yet. But with the vehicle in sight and in perfectly fine condition for that moment in time, he turned to the front of the store and rounded the corner when something stopped him dead in his tracks.

Well, well, well...

Now this was a rare sight, and one that was almost unwelcome considering the situation at hand. The reason it was so unwelcome was that, for once, Wesker was innocent of the things taking place, but Chris didn't know that, and if Wesker was going to put up a fight with the man, he wanted it to at least be over something he'd legitimately done to piss Chris off. It wasn't any fun the other way around.

Another unwelcome factor was Wesker's knowledge of Chris's abilities. Chris was a survivor - irritatingly enough - and his skills would come in extremely handy to take down whomever _was_ behind all of this. For that reason alone, Wesker had already considered that if his old friend _was_ still alive, he'd probably do better _not_ to kill him.

Still, Wesker couldn't just leave without at least saying hello to his former subordinate who he'd just spotted near the pumps, apparently having the same idea in mind that he himself had in coming to the gas station. The vehicle Wesker had heard must have belonged to him, and he'd probably parked on the other side of the building and they'd just missed one another by moments when Wesker went to go check on the suburban he'd been driving.

How ironic, Wesker thought, stepping in closer to where his old friend was currently crouched. Time for an unpleasant reunion.


	15. Comfort

_Chapter 14 - Comfort_

_ December 2__nd__, 2007_

_ Salida, Colorado_

_ 12:53 PM_

The drive toward Salida was blissfully peaceful, but the previous night hadn't been as such. Chris stayed in the hummer with Dutch while Regan and Shannon took up residency in the RV, each party carrying one of Regan's radios for quick contact in case an emergency rose up and they needed to react quickly. But things were pretty quiet, and it was only the rest that wasn't easily had.

Regan laid down and passed out pretty fast at first, but Shannon's sleep was riddled with bad dreams, and she kept waking up every now and then from them, scared and asking her mother for comfort. Regan gave her just that, holding to her daughter while they rested, and when Regan _couldn't_ sleep, she would listen to everything around them, get up to go check through the windows from time to time, looking to see that the roadside was all clear, and making sure the hummer ahead of them where Chris slept was being left alone. When she confirmed it, she would then go back to lay down with Shannon, who finally slept a good way through the middle of the night.

It was somewhat early when Chris had awoken, like it normally was as his own sleep came to him in spurts just the same as usual. When he finally did manage to get up, looking outside warily as always before leaving the vehicle at all, he headed to the RV and went to check on Regan and Shannon.

Shannon was already awake, sitting quietly on the couch in the RV with a soda can, still pretty tired from her tossing and turning the night before. Chris came to a stop after he'd stepped inside of the vehicle when he saw her, saying, "Oh, almost didn't see you. Is your mom asleep still?"

Shannon gave him a nod of her head and lifted her soda up to sip a little of it. Chris watched her for a moment and then walked over and settled on the couch about a foot away from her. Shannon glanced over at him, her red hair a mess of curls that needed to be brushed, and when he asked her if she was alright, she groggily nodded at him and rubbed her sleepy green eyes. After a moment, she asked, "Did you sleep good?"

"Yeah," he nodded, knowing it wasn't a lie because he always slept the same anymore, even when he was home by himself and everything was safe. So there just wasn't a reason to tell her more than that.

Shannon's lips pursed, and with a shake of her head, she whispered, "I keep dreaming that mama's a monster, and she doesn't know me anymore."

Shannon had stared into the distance when she'd whispered that, and Chris took in a breath through his nose that he exhaled from his mouth. This was more his sister's area of expertise, talking to kids and making them feel better, but he wanted to let Regan sleep if she could, so he decided to take a shot at talking to her, and figured the best thing to do would be to figure out what Claire might say to her in this situation.

"They're just bad dreams, you know, stuff we're afraid of happening."

"I know," she nodded back at him, then looked up. After a silent moment, she asked, "What are _you_ afraid of happening?"

That question was easy to answer because what Chris was afraid of happening already had, so his every waking moment was like a bad dream. But he told her instead just to keep it simple, "Same thing you are. Someone I love turning into a monster, that kind of stuff."

"Like your sister?"

"Yeah, like Claire."

Shannon gave him a curious look for a moment, then she asked him, "Is she pretty?"

A slow smile came to Chris's face when he thought about that, and he reached into his back pocket to tug out his wallet. As he did, Shannon scooted over and leaned against his side so she could see, something Chris was starting to get used to, and he opened the small picture book he had in his wallet to find the most recent picture he had of his younger sibling. Shannon waited patiently, and then looked when he let her see a picture that was taken of Claire with him about two years beforehand.

Shannon took his wallet out of his hand and looked it over. "That one's not too old, she doesn't look much different now."

Chris didn't look too much different in it either, and after a moment of taking the image in, Shannon said as if to confirm it aloud, "Yep, she's pretty."

Chris smiled, and as Shannon leaned against him, he let his arm settle over her back as she yawned and handed the wallet back to him. He turned it and pushed it back into his pants again before he settled back against the couch and looked down at the eight year old who'd become so trusting of him over the past while they'd known each other. Oddly enough, none of it feel awkward to him. Actually, he was comfortable this way, more so than he had been in a while.

After a brief moment of contemplating that, he got back on the topic of his sister and told Shannon, "She'd like you. She's got a soft spot for kids anyway, so she'd probably spoil you."

Shannon turned her head up to look at him, a little smile on her face. "I'm sure I'll like her too when I meet her."

The way she'd said the words, without a question in her mind as to whether or not she _would_ meet Claire, somehow warmed Chris. He couldn't figure out why, but hell, he didn't care why. It was a nice feeling, one he wanted to enjoy while it lasted, and not worry over the reasons for it. Now was time to take comfort when you got it, not question it when it was there.

In response to her sentiment, he mentioned, "Yeah, we'll have to cook a big dinner for celebrating when we get there. Have some kind of party or something."

Shannon didn't reply to that, not even to give a nod of her head. Looking down and tilting his head to see if she was paying attention, he realized that she'd fallen asleep against him, her eyes closed and her breathing even. Slowly, Chris smirked over it, having known she was up too early for a kid to begin with, so he figured she needed the rest too. Sitting back, he left her there to sleep, deciding they could wait a little bit longer before moving out.

Regan finally woke up, still laying in the bedroom of the RV where she'd fallen asleep a few hours beforehand. When she noticed Shannon wasn't there, she asked her name and got up from bed. No answer came however, and Regan's brows narrowed as she went into the main room of the RV, rounding the corner somewhat quickly before she came to a sudden stop at the sight that was waiting for her there. Chris was asleep on the couch, his head having fallen back, and his arm was resting over Shannon who'd curled up into his side, also sound asleep.

A slow smile crept across Regan's lips over the image, unable to help but be touched by it.

Too bad she didn't have a camera of some type, she thought to herself. Somehow, Chris struck her as a man who didn't interact with children often. She didn't think he wasn't fond of them, but just got the feeling he didn't have much experience with them. So having a picture of this would've been perfect. It was also somewhat amusing because Chris wasn't a small man, and Shannon looked like a toddler next to him with the way she was settled.

Regan hated to disturb them, but she noticed the time on the oven said it was getting closer to ten o'clock now, so they really needed to get started as soon as possible. So she went over and crouched down next to Chris on the opposite side that Shannon was on and reached for his shoulder, gently pushing on it while whispering, "Chris?"

He lifted his head slowly, eyes coming open groggily, their brown tone peering down at her when he realized he'd fallen asleep with Shannon against himself. "Huh? Oh," he drew out, looked back at Regan, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "It's just getting to ten o'clock now, and I thought we might want to get a move on."

Shannon had started waking up when she heard the talking, and Chris muttered incoherently, realizing he'd passed out for another hour with the kid on the couch before he told Regan, "I didn't mean to fall asleep again. I guess I was more tired than I thought."

Regan got the feeling he just didn't realize how easy it was to fall asleep without meaning to whenever you were holding a child, or at least, it seemed to be the case for her anyway. When Shannon was a baby, it happened too often for her to count the times, but instead of saying anything about it, she just helped Shannon down from the couch and told him it was fine.

"No harm done, you could probably use the extra rest anyway."

"Very true," Chris replied, standing from the couch and glancing out of the front windshield and ahead at the hummer. There was still nothing in sight, and he rubbed his eyes to clear them of sleep, then looked back over at the two ladies with him. "I left Dutch in the hummer though. Better go let him get a break before he goes on the seat."

"Alright, we'll get dressed and be up there in a minute."

Nodding in agreement to Regan's comment, Chris turned to head to the door, hearing his stomach rumbling on the way out. He didn't mention that to Regan though because there was food in the hummer he could eat, enough for all three of them if they wanted it. Instead, he just went to the hummer and let Dutch out, who immediately began sniffing around in the grass near the roadway in order to find a place to relieve himself while Chris decided it would probably take the girls long enough that he could do the same thing.

Not too long later, they were all in the hummer, heading down the highway and toward a small town called Salida. They still had two full canisters of gas, so they weren't in high need for more of the fuel, and there were no plans for stopping until they saw that the area in general looked fairly unscathed, and a gas station settled on the side of the road that was relatively untouched from the looks of it drew their attention. It was also easily accessible with an exit on the other side of the lot that would mean no backing out.

Chris and Regan both saw it as they rode down the highway toward it, and thought the very same question at the same time. Chris was simply the first to mention it.

"We still have two cans of gasoline, and we got a late start this morning, but I wonder if it might be a good idea to go ahead and get the other ones filled up again, try to stay on top of that. Once we get into New Mexico and past Albuquerque, we'll be in the homestretch for Dallas, so it might be a good idea. Then again, the place looks untouched, and in my experience, those are usually the worst ones to stop at."

Regan pursed her lips and thought about it while Shannon looked up at her. After a moment, she said, "We can at least pull through the lot. I see a back entrance, and then a second exit on the other side, and no cars blocking the path if we go around the building, so we wouldn't have to back out, and if it's no good, we can just keep going."

"That's a good point," Chris agreed, then he gave a nod of his head. "Alright, let's take a look."

He began to slow down and then turn the wheel so he could pull into the parking lot once the hummer reached it, doing what Regan had suggested by pulling the hummer to the back of the building where fewer cars were blocking the path and coming up around the far side to park instead of going around the front side. On the way there, Regan mentioned, "Huh, that's a nice SUV."

Chris saw the black vehicle parked on the side of the building himself as he'd been driving past it, replying, "Yeah, an SUV might be a nice alternative to having a car with an RV hitched to it. Sturdy, and easier to maneuver."

"Yeah, but I like having a bathroom to use," Shannon piped up. Then she looked at Regan and added, "Speaking of which, I think I drink too much soda earlier. I really gotta go."

"Well, it seems like we've got a good reason to check this place out then," Regan replied looking over at Chris.

Chris nodded his head, turning the steering wheel one final time to pull up on the opposing side of the store, and once the breaks had lightly squeaked and stopped the vehicle, he put the hummer into gear and lifted his foot from the break, leaving the engine on for the moment. He glanced around the area, realizing everything was quiet, and then looked over at Dutch, who had put his head over the back of the front seat.

Dutch wasn't acting suspicious, just panting normally, and he turned a pair of big, brown eyes to Chris as if to ask him _what?_ silently.

"Well, Dutch doesn't seem to be bothered, so that's a good sign," Chris noted, looking ahead again. After a brief moment, he reached over and flipped the engine off, adding, "I'll go grab the canister, check everything out."

"Alright, I'll take Shannon to the RV then."

When Regan mentioned that, the eight year old asked, "Is it okay if I stay there, mama? Maybe watch a movie?"

Regan looked at Shannon, replying, "We'll see." When Shannon nodded her head compliantly, Regan looked back at Chris and added, "There's a good view of the pumps from here so I'll be able to see you anyway, but you should still take the radio, just incase."

Chris was gathering his weapons, pulling the strap of his shotgun over his head and then checking the chambers out. While he did this, Regan reached for her radio and held it out to him. Once she had, he took it to place on his belt, then told her, "Alright, let's get going. If something comes up, I'll tell you over the radio, or just run back to the hummer and get started, even if you're still in the RV."

"Got it," Regan nodded her head, checking her own gun before she made any movements to go at all.

With everything in place, they all climbed out of the hummer. Regan let Dutch out as well and took him to the RV with Shannon, who went to go use the bathroom in a sprint. She hadn't wanted to mention it before because she wanted them to get as far as possible without stopping, but she apparently really needed to go. Once they were all inside, Dutch hopped into the driver's seat behind the steering wheel and Regan looked out of the front windows to see Chris warily heading into the parking lot. She hoped no surprises ended popping up on them.

"Mama?"

The question got Regan's attention, and she turned around to see Shannon standing there after she'd finished using the bathroom, asking when she had her mother's gaze, "If Dutch stays in the RV with me, I mean, if you don't wanna, it would be okay if I stayed here with the radio, right?"

"We'd have to ask Chris. But we can decide that if everything here goes alright. If something pops up, we might get stuck in the RV anyway."

Shannon started nodding her head, then said, "I just wanted to watch the Terminator again. It's nice because it makes me forget about the monsters."

Regan smiled and patted Shannon's shoulder. That did sound like a good idea to her. But before she could comment on it, something seemed to capture Shannon's attention, her brows narrowing over what she saw.

"Mama, who's that man outside? He doesn't walk like a monster."

"What man?," Regan asked as she turned around to look, and suddenly Dutch began to bark and let a low growl, his fur bristling in threat. Regan could barely see who Shannon was speaking of standing in the distance as she peered over the hummer in front of them, but he walked out not too far away from where Chris had crouched to milk the pumps for gas.

From where she was, she couldn't tell much about him, but she _did_ notice one thing in particular that stood out; he was wearing a pair of shades.

Chris, crouched near the pumps while they were working, lifted a brow when he realized that the pump he was using was about to overflow his canister, thinking the word 'jackpot' in his head. Since things seemed to quiet—for the moment anyway—he might be able to go fill the tank back up and then come back for more. He reached over to switch to the second canister, hoping that would be the case.

It was when he'd had that thought and stuck the nozzle into the second container that he heard an accented voice reaching his ears—one that he _definitely_ didn't want to hear, but wasn't _completely_ surprised over considering yesterday's events and the story he'd heard.

"Small world after all, isn't it...Chris?"

Typical. The moment he had an idea that something might go right for once, that things might have actually been at least somewhat comfortable for a day or so, it all went spiraling into shit, and _this_ was the worst shit that could have possibly come. Chris knew then that if there was a such thing as Lady Luck, she apparently loathed him with all the fires of a thousand burning suns.

Then again, she couldn't possibly hate him as much as the man standing behind him now did. _That_ was the more important issue in that moment, and without flinching, Chris drew his gun and stood up quickly, turning and aiming it right at the face of the one man in the entire world he would pull the trigger on then and there and not feel any remorse about it at all.

The trouble was he was liable to miss. That fact alone stayed Chris's trigger finger, but damned if he wasn't itching to try. The expectant smirk that formed on Wesker's face, saying he _knew_ Chris would react that way, only made that itching worse.

This definitely wasn't going to end well.


	16. Interruption

_ Chapter 15 - Interruption_

_ December 2nd, 2007_

_ Salida, Colorado_

_ 1:05 PM_

Chris gave Wesker exactly the greeting he was waiting for, tugging his weapon out of his jacket and standing up, turning to face his nemesis completely, gun aimed dead center. Chris's ire only grew when he actually saw the man standing there in the flesh, and Wesker just smirked at him in response, though he looked genuinely bored despite the gun being aimed at his head now. As if to prove that was the case, in addition to his first line of greeting about the world being a small place after all, he told Chris blandly, "Even smaller now considering what's happened."

Chris didn't have the clarity of rational thought in that moment to say anything meaningful just then. His whole mind was centered on what this tyrant was capable of and _why_ he'd done this, not to mention the thought that the bastard was still alive, even after he'd watched him—along with his partner—taking a several-hundred-foot nosedive into a ravine a year ago now. He had to steady his trigger finger when he thought about the sorry state of the world to boot, considering that if he could just nail this bastard, right here, right now, no one would _ever_ know, and he'd rid everyone of one of the worst threats there was to be had.

As if psychic, Wesker called him out on what he'd just been thinking, still as casual as ever despite the weapon trained on his person now.

"I'm _guessing_ you are under the impression that the sorry state of the world is _my_ doing, aren't you. I wouldn't think you would be holding me at gunpoint out of the sheer joy of seeing me after all."

There was that irritating fucking sarcasm. Chris nearly growled out the words in response, "Just shut up! I can't even say how much I'm tempted to–"

"Put me down for good because the situation is perfect for it?," Wesker asked him in interruption. Then he let a barely audible snort through his nose, one of half amusement, half derision. "Oh, I know the feeling. The situation _is_ perfect for it. But, as much of a liar as you know me to be, I can say in all honesty," he paused, his next line spoken pointedly enough that it almost sounded humorous, "you have the wrong man."

Chris stared at him blankly for a moment, and though his weapon never faltered in its aim, he actually snorted as if amused. "When'd you add being a comedian to your list of specialties?"

"Actually, I find it ironically humorous as well, the fact that all this time you've been chasing me down, and someone _else_ pulls the proverbial trigger," Wesker informed Chris. "Any other day, you might be completely right about me, and we both know it. But today, you would be _very_ wrong."

"Alright, let's say I believe you for the moment," Chris started, honestly interested in seeing how Wesker might explain _this_ one. "_Someone's_ gotta be behind it, so who is if not you?"

"Sadly, I don't know that answer yet," Wesker admitted in response freely enough, as if in the same boat as Chris where he'd love nothing more than to get his hands on the information and potentially strangle the life out of someone. "I was flying on a private jet when the missiles were launched. As it turned out, the entire crew of the aircraft I was aboard was out for my demise, so I gathered you would have gotten along with them rather well." He made a brief pause, and Chris had to agree that he probably would have. Instead of focusing on it though, he let Wesker finish his short tale.

"There was an incident on board due to this which caused the jet to crash in Utah, and I have been left stranded with little more than theories which I haven't been able to prove ever since."

Chris gave the story a bit of thought. He wasn't trying to say that he'd been running around ever since this happened, just as lost and unsure about things as Chris had been, was he? Chris gave him a scrutinizing look over the sentiment. He didn't want to admit it, but it made sense. Antonio, the man in the autoparts shop, said he'd seen Wesker a few days before then, which meant Wesker had to have been traveling on his own, otherwise someone like Antonio would have never run into him.

Aside from this, Chris knew two things for certain. One, Wesker was heartless and he'd hurt anyone, but usually he only hurt them if they were standing in his way or a threat, otherwise he didn't bother with it, especially not with normal people like that because they were rarely ever threatening. So he had to have hurt Antonio's cousin, Miguel, for a reason. Wesker was insane for certain, but there was method to his madness, even Chris knew that much. Calculating and backstabbing, that was Wesker in a nutshell.

The other thing Chris knew was, if Wesker had caused this outbreak, then _why_ was he out here instead of in some locked down control center somewhere, watching from afar as the rest of the world suffered? Chris knew he was important to Wesker to see dead, but it made no sense for him to be out here now just to kill him, and the thought that he might be for that reason alone only raised more questions than it answered. So didn't it make more sense, if he were the perpetrator of all of this, for him to be hidden somewhere right about now, operating through lackeys and manipulating people like a puppet master manipulated strings?

Wesker could see the spark of doubt on Chris's face as he had those thoughts, and remained silent for a few moments to let the man try to figure this out on his own before he commented at all.

"Makes no sense, does it, to say that _I'm_ behind all of this, and then find me out here in the world where _I_ am just as much of a meal to the zombies wandering about as you are? In fact, believe it or not, I have no interest in killing you now either."

Chris did laugh then, unable to help himself. "I thought I'd heard it all, Wesker, but you just proved me wrong, I'll give you that much."

"Oh, I would love nothing more than to watch the life drain out of you," Wesker told him promisingly, "but in this situation, I find that you may be more useful alive than dead in order to find the one who _is_ responsible for this, and who knows, perhaps even take them down as well."

Now _that_, Chris could believe. Whatever was of use, Wesker took it. Still, Chris couldn't quite get himself to lower his gun just then. Instead, he asked, "So why come out here now? Why show yourself at all?"

Wesker had gotten quiet for a moment, but he was just about to speak when a sudden shot sounded from a rifle. Wesker was hit with a bullet which tore through the side of his neck and into his shoulder before it entered the pavement near Chris's feet, blowing up a bit of cement. Wesker fell to the side, his shades clattering away from his face as he landed, laying there lifelessly afterward while Chris jumped back toward the pumps quickly, warily glancing around to try to pinpoint the origin of the shot.

His eyes darted toward the hummer first because of the thought that maybe Regan had seen something from the RV and used the hatch to set up a sniper point with her rifle. But he remembered that hers had a silencer which this shot didn't seem to when he saw no one perched on the top of the vehicle. Whoever shot Wesker, it hadn't been Regan, and his eyes were drawn back toward the tyrant then, who'd just let out a groan but was still down for the count.

That's when Chris heard something else, like scuffling, and he looked up toward the top of the convenient store of the gas station to see two figures who were, apparently, duking it out under the glaring afternoon sunlight.

The glare made it difficult to see them clearly, but that didn't stop Chris from muttering aloud, "What the hell?"

Wesker still hadn't gotten back up just then, but he was moving as if trying to orientate himself now, and Chris looked from him and back up to the top of the roof to see the two figures, which vaguely looked like women, engaging in their fight above before, and very suddenly, they'd apparently thrown one another over the edge.

Both of them fell from the roof after one made an attack which was evaded by the other, leaving their assailant open. This gave the second woman the upper hand which she used to push the first over the edge of the wall. But the one who was pushed managed to grab her opponent and hang on in the process, and that caused her body weight to pull her enemy over the edge with her.

Chris watched them both falling in front of the sign over the awning above the door, and then slamming into it. The awning was mostly clothe, so when the first woman landed, it didn't break, but with the second woman's weight, he heard the fabric ripping. Inevitably, it gave way, and they fell another ten feet downward and onto the pavement, rolling a bit away from one another. The clothe then fluttered down and over them, covering them from his view completely for the moment.

Regan had exited the RV by this time. She'd seen Chris holding Wesker at gunpoint, remembering what Chris had said about the man the entire time she'd been watching. When she'd first realized he was wearing shades, she'd been doubtful about his identity, but when she saw Chris pulling a gun on him without so much as a word, she knew she was absolutely right. This was the man he'd mentioned to her before, Albert Wesker. Her reaction was to get Shannon and Dutch into the back of the RV where she told Shannon not to come out until she was told that it was safe again, and then Regan headed back to the front of the vehicle.

She realized by that time that nothing had happened, that Chris was still holding Wesker at gunpoint and they appeared to be talking. She would've gone outside immediately, but she kept remembering what Chris had told her, about how heartless and calculating this was, and she didn't want to make a mistake by giving away her position or potentially forcing Wesker to react to some variable she didn't know about beforehand.

It occurred to her that she could use her rifle and climb up to the hatch at the top of the RV in order to try to snipe him perhaps, but what were they talking about? For all she knew, Chris could have been getting valuable information from the man, and killing him just then might not have been the best idea. After all, Chris hadn't shot yet, so there had to be a reason for it.

It wasn't until Regan saw the blonde haired man getting shot that she moved at all. If there was another gunman out there—from the looks of it they were a bad shot because they'd apparently hit their boss which she was assuming Wesker to be perhaps—then she wasn't going to just let anything happen to Chris if she could help it. She turned and left the RV, making her way to the corner carefully with her weapon in hand, looking left and then right to make sure she was clear on both sides, which she was, and got to the edge of the building.

That's when the two women had fallen from the roof, and though Regan couldn't see it, she heard it loud and clear. She looked around the corner to see that Chris was near one of the pumps with his gun drawn, and Wesker was actually pushing himself back up finally. Regan wasn't sure what to make of that, he looked like he'd been shot in a bad place before, so how he was managing to get back up at all now was beyond her. Chris had mentioned the man's abilities, the fact that he wasn't human, but even still, it wasn't easy to try to figure out.

Chris saw Regan though, and when they made eye contact, he held up a hand, quietly telling her to stay there, and stay back away from everything. Regan let a short breath out, but listened and backed up around the corner again, staying out of sight. When she was gone, Chris looked back at Wesker who'd stumbled to a knee and he rolled his eyes.

"Doing okay over there?," he asked the tyrant sarcastically.

"Marvelous," Wesker returned blandly, blood oozing down the side of his healing neck, which had thankfully only been grazed, otherwise he would've taken a good bit longer to mend. The wound in his shoulder was a different matter, but it wouldn't impede him because he wouldn't let it, determined to stand back up. He reached for his shades with his good hand on the way there, but didn't bother inspecting them because he was too focused on trying to get out of the line of fire, though he realized in that moment that he already was when he and Chris looked back over to see that the two women who had fallen were getting back to their feet.

The awning had stopped their descent long enough to allow them both to land pretty safely except for a scrape or two of skin, so neither of them appeared to be much worse for the wear. Now that they were out of the glaring noon light, Chris could see that one of them had strawberry blonde hair that took on an orange tone in the sun, pulled back into a ponytail, and was wearing a simple outfit with a white button down and a pair of jeans and boots on her feet.

The other woman had a shorter crop of black hair and appeared to be oriental, wearing a dark red dress that was thigh length and a pair of heels, but that was the most he could gather before they engaged one another again, or they were about to anyway when Wesker made his own move.

Wesker easily recognized both women in the scuffle when he saw them. One was the woman he'd just left in the convenience store who he'd been traveling with, and the other was the spy Ada Wong, a woman he'd done business with previously on more than one occasion.

Sadly for Ada, their business wasn't quite finished yet.

Cecilia, being the one fighting with Ada, wasn't prepared for Wesker's sudden intervention into their fight either. After Wesker had gone outside in order to stop what he thought might have been looters, she'd heard an odd sound coming from the roof of the convenience store.

If Wesker had heard something, but didn't think it was any monster, Cecilia wondered briefly if maybe some_one_ was climbing around up there. If so, it could've posed a problem that would need to be taken care of. So, tugging the strap of her duffel over her head and shoulder before pulling her weapon up, she headed toward the back of the building where there was a door leading into a stockroom. Cecilia didn't enter very quickly, and instead, looked around from where she stood, realizing that nothing seemed to be there laying in wait, but one thing did capture her attention, and that was a square shaped light coming from above in the windowless room.

So Cecilia stepped through the doorway quietly and looked up at the ceiling where she saw an open hatch at the end of a ladder built along the wall which led up to the roof. Sunlight was filtering in through the square hole, and when a sudden creak of sound reached Cecilia from behind, she turned and aimed in that direction quickly.

Nothing was there, and Cecilia let her gaze take everything in when she noticed an unlocked door at the back of the building had moved in a soft breeze, suggesting someone might have recently used it. If these weren't monsters, but instead, people as Wesker suspected, then Cecilia got the strongest sense someone had just gone up to the rooftop, and her gut told her that she needed to check it out. Turning around, she slipped her gun back into the harness on her belt, making sure to button it down because she'd be damned if something besides a person was up there waiting and she lost the thing on the ladder, and then began to climb up the rungs.

Once she got to the top, she slowly began to check around before even trying to poke her head through the hole, then did so with a quick glance before lowering herself down again. What she managed to see was a person in the corner of her vision, and now that she had a location, she quickly looked again, then realized they were turned away from her completely. With the knowledge in mind, she slowly stuck her head up.

She saw a woman who'd crouched low with a rifle, tugging the stem out at the bottom so she could settle it upright and get a clear shot. Whoever she was, Cecilia wasn't certain, nor was she completely certain _what_ the woman might've been aiming at. This didn't stop her from silently working her way in behind the sniper however.

When she was about seven feet away from the woman who was concentrating on the scope, peering through it in wait of a good shot perhaps, she heard the sniper saying softly, "Just a little further."

Cecilia's brows narrowed. A feeling of foreboding overcame her, and as it did, the woman went on, "There. I'll send my regards in a bouquet of flowers to your funeral, Wesker."

Cecilia didn't feel as if she owed Wesker anything. He'd proven she was resistant to the T Virus, but he'd risked her life to do so, even though he claimed he wouldn't have just let her die, only be infected. Still, she wasn't going to just let him be shot while she watched. Even if she didn't particularly like the man—or whatever he was—just standing by while he was sniped was simply rude in principle alone.

Cecilia tackled the woman just as she'd pulled the trigger. She wasn't fast enough to stop her from taking the shot, but she'd apparently managed to keep Wesker's head on his shoulders and intact as the rifle's aim was knocked off in the movement. From there, a fight ensued without question, the sniper retaliating by rolling onto her back and trying to turn her weapon on Cecilia, and Cecilia, settled over her, grabbed the it before it could be aimed. In addition, she quickly drew a fist across the woman's cheek as hard as she possibly could.

But the woman was no slouch in a fight. Cecilia went for her own weapon after hitting her, but because of the button which locked her gun into place which she had to undo to get it out, the sniper got enough time to stop her by pushing her to the side. Cecilia hit the roof on her side, and one movement led to another then until the both of them were on their feet, taking and giving quickly made blows. It wasn't too terribly long after this fighting started that Cecilia found herself with her back to the edge of the roof, throwing a punch at her current enemy so that she could try to get some space without falling.

Instead of landing the blow however, the oriental woman she was scraping with managed to evade the hit by catching her hand, and then turned and shoved herself forward into Cecilia, knocking her backwards with a shoulder to the middle of her chest.

Gravity began to pull the former police officer backward, downward, and as she felt herself slipping, she reached for whatever she could by instinct alone. Because her enemy had shoved her right side into Cecilia, once she reached, Cecilia managed to grab her right wrist. As soon as she had the limb in hand, she tightened her grip around it as hard as she could and refused to let go.

Instead of stopping her descent though, her falling weight had only pulled the sniper down with her, and they both hit the awning below them, which slowed their progression toward the incoming cement enough to allow the impact to be much less painful than it would have been otherwise. Honestly though, Cecilia didn't think that was saying much. She still felt the wind knocked out of her as she hit the hard ground in front of the door to the convenient store, ignoring the clothe of the awning that fluttered down to cover her while she tried to catch her breath and regain some semblance of rational thought.

It took her a moment, but Cecilia finally stumbled to her feet, oblivious to Wesker who had done the same thing nearby after he was shot only a few moments beforehand. She started to tear the clothe of the awning off of her so she could see clearly again in the process, looking up once it was gone in order to gain her new bearings with a newfound and particularly strong sense of anger flooding her after being pushed off of a fucking building.

The oriental woman who'd done it wasn't too far away from her now either she realized, and she was also trying to free herself from the clothe of the awning before she looked up and around like she might've been completely wary of the situation at hand and what would happen next—ignoring Cecilia altogether now.

Because of this, Cecilia was ready to slam her fist into the woman's distracted face just for pushing her off of the convenient store roof alone, rage fueling her will to fight rather than survival now. She moved toward her opponent to do just that, and swung with a good bit of strength, but found her fist flying through the empty air suddenly. Her gathered momentum from the missed blow caused her to swing around completely, allowing her to see what had happened exactly.

Wesker had moved at lightening speed towards the Asian when he'd recognized her, and grabbed her by the throat without much effort whatsoever. Once he had her in his clutches, he turned Ada and slammed her against the glass in the front of the store so hard that it cracked behind her head and shoulders. With his uninjured arm, Wesker held the woman up off of the ground, her throat tightly clenched in his fist while she sputtered and choked for air.

"Damn it," Cecilia grumbled out, panting in her breath. "You could've let me hit her first."

Wesker didn't take long to respond, saying, "You will simply have to take pleasure in seeing what I do to her then, Miss Chase. I don't intend to be gentle."

Things started to come into focus for Cecilia then. She'd only just noticed Chris heading toward them, a man she'd never met before and had no clue the identity of, but as for the woman she'd been fighting, it was all too apparent that Wesker had a good deal of contempt for her and was more than likely going to kill her. Cecilia did, in fact, watch the scene unfolding, and due to the things she'd witnessed Wesker doing before, she was grateful not to be in the sniper's shoes now.

After all, Wesker looked intent on getting some answers.


	17. Alliance

_Chapter 16 - Alliance_

_ December 2nd, 2007_

_ Salida, Colorado_

_ 1:27 PM_

"I'd wondered who might show up to attempt this. So it seems our little game of cat and mouse isn't quite finished, which only leaves the question of _who_ sent you."

Wesker never removed his glowing gaze from Ada as he informed her of that. Chris, standing not too far away from Cecilia, looked over to see Regan who was still by the corner of the building, and silently motioned for her to get back into the RV. He wanted her ready to get out of there as soon as possible because, while he wasn't certain what might come soon now, he also wasn't ready to go _just_ yet. This could prove to be a situation where he might be able to learn some kind of important information.

If so, then he needed to take advantage of it.

Regan looked a little hesitant in response, but she did as he silently asked, heading back to the RV and climbing inside, taking to the task of checking on her daughter and making sure she wasn't scared until this all blew over, _if_ it blew over.

Once Regan was out of sight, Chris looked back at Wesker, getting back to the matters at hand. "Who is she?," he asked of the woman in Wesker's grasp now, though he could scarcely believe he was so casually inquiring for more information from Wesker of all people.

"Ada Wong," Wesker replied, "a spy I've known from quite a few previous run-ins who likes to play the role of double, and perhaps even triple agent. I have no doubts that whoever sent her here is behind the outbreaks, or at least in line with them, so I'm certain you would wish to stick around and learn more."

Ada was still struggling for breath, unable to speak currently because of the fist around her throat. Though she knew without a doubt that Wesker wasn't crushing it as much as he could because she could still get _some_ air, so she wasn't in the dark just yet. After all, he wasn't aiming to kill her right off the bat. He needed answers just as much as anyone else did, and he couldn't get them if she was dead.

Chris felt the compulsion to stop Wesker because seeing anyone die at the tyrant's hands, or even be hurt by them, wasn't something he was completely willing to witness again. But in hearing that this woman might know _who_ was behind the outbreaks, or that she might have anything more that they didn't know about, he stayed himself and watched the scene unfold along with Cecilia, a woman he didn't know at all, and wasn't certain he could trust if Wesker was her company of choice.

He doubted that Wesker had a habit of taking in random survivors though, so if the unknown woman who'd been fighting with Ada _was_ merely with Wesker for survival, Chris could only wonder what kind of use Wesker might've been getting out of the poor woman that would make him allow her to tag along, and whether she even knew she was being used or not.

He honestly didn't want to consider it for the time being, so instead, he focused on the situation with Ada.

"So who is it this time, Ada?," Wesker asked her. "One of those same old under-miners, or did you manage to find someone entirely new to employ your duplicitous services this time around? Do be a good girl and just answer without trying one of those little tricks you like to pull from time to time. You don't want to die without a cause, do you?"

His grip eased up just enough to allow her to speak, and Ada gasped in her breath as deeply as she could, still clutching his wrist as he held her steady, reeling from how hard her head had hit the glass in the newly cracked window behind her.

As she managed to get her voice to work, she rasped out the words, "We both know...as soon as I...tell you anything...I'm as good as...dead anyway."

"Perhaps you are," Wesker informed her darkly.

"Wesker," Chris intervened, his voice stern, but he didn't say more than that because he knew he didn't have to. Wesker understood what he was getting across—they both needed to know who was behind this, and if she thought she was going to die anyway, then she wasn't going to talk any faster.

Finally, Chris added the words, "That only gives her more of a reason to lie to us."

Cecilia, who still had no idea who the tall, brown haired man was that seemed to know her current traveling companion, looked over at him and said, "It's not like we have a lot of time either. We've been here too long, and made too much noise. Who knows what might show up any minute now."

"I agree," Wesker replied to the sentiment. "So Ada," he went on, still staring his red eyes up at the woman, "we'll make a deal. The easier you tell me the truth, the quicker I'll make your death. Would you rather die by having your neck snapped, or your legs broken so you can't run whenever the zombies arrive?"

Ada's expression was unreadable, mostly due to the lack of air she was getting, but she _did_ answer Wesker's question, she simply answered it silently. Quickly, in an attempt to free herself, she lifted a leg and jabbed it downward at his wounded shoulder. Wearing heels as she typically did, she managed to push the end of it into the bullet wound she'd left in Wesker earlier, stabbing it down with a good bit of force that broke through what newly mended flesh his wound had been able to recover so far and cause it to bleed anew.

Wesker cringed as the pain of the movement stabbed through him, jerking her back on instinct, though he forced himself to hold onto her. In retaliation, he reached for her leg and grabbed it, jerking it to the side in an unnatural way that caused her tibia to crack with a slight crunch of sound. Just before he broke it, Ada had used his distraction to grab a small knife she had concealed on her belt, and stabbed the blade down, which went into the side of his neck where she intended to do some real damage.

Her strength, however, faltered when her leg was snapped, and the knife didn't go in deeply enough to reach an artery, only to cut a slight bit of muscle. Her foot had come out of her shoe when Wesker had broken her upper leg, leaving the heel stuck in his shoulder for the time being. Ada would have screamed because of the pain she'd felt, but Wesker clenched his fist more tightly around her throat when she'd stabbed him, and in a mixture of both anger as well as reaction to the sudden pain, the movement crushed it.

Ada began to strangle as his fist had closed so tightly around her neck, a gruesome death to be sure, one that Wesker felt no remorse over dispensing to her despite the lack of answers he'd gotten out of her. As the life began to drain from her body, he slowly lowered her down across the glass, saying as he did, "Well, it's not a snapped neck, but it's close enough I suppose."

Ada went still just a moment later, and Wesker disdainfully pushed her body away to slump over to the side on the pavement. As he did, Chris used his free hand to rub his eyes while he let out a groan of frustration, unsure if she'd forced his hand and he couldn't blame Wesker, or if Wesker had just killed her in retaliation. But at that time, he knew he couldn't have done much about it to begin with the moment the spy had tried to resist instead of cooperate.

"Great, now we've lost a lead," Chris muttered out.

"I seem to recall you loosing leads unnecessarily before as well," Wesker muttered back to him.

Chris gave the man a look, and would have made a comeback to the retort, but a beep of sound got his attention. All three of them looked back over at the dead spy when they heard it, and Wesker, having just tugged the high heel out of his shoulder and tossed it to the side with a good amount of irritation—a sight Chris found vastly amusing—tilted his head to glance at Ada's utility belt.

"Then again, perhaps we haven't lost anything," Wesker added when he saw the PDA on her belt, a single, green light on the corner blinking as it beeped softly again. Without waiting, Wesker reached down to tug the device up from the body so he could answer the message being sent.

Chris waited to see who might be on the other end. After all, if he wanted answers, this was his last chance to get them. So as his enemy lifted the now ringing device up to look at the small view screen on it and accept the call, he was all ears.

From the device, he suddenly heard the words, "Progress report, Ada, I..."

The voice trailed off when the person speaking saw that Ada wasn't who they were speaking to precisely.

Wesker didn't keep Chris or Cecilia in suspense over the mystery callers identity either. "Thomas Neddleson, what a surprise to see _you_ again of all people, unharmed by the dangerous situations lurking about in the world at large now. I suppose though, that you have someone else to thank for that, and that _I_ am an inconvenience your people want to dispense with, though you could have done better than to send in a two bit spy like Ada Wong to track me down and kill me."

The man's voice on the other end was completely silent, anxiously so. In response, Wesker simply tried to jar him into saying a little more. "What's wrong, cat have your tongue? Or do I need to guess who does? It shouldn't be hard if I remember correctly."

The man looked a good bit uncomfortable, and the only thing that Chris and Cecilia heard from him next were the words, "Whether you guess correctly or not, I hope you enjoy what's left of your trip. It will be over soon, Wesker."

With those words, the connection was cut, and Wesker just smirked and lowered his arm, still holding the PDA in his hand in deep consideration as he finally had some of his answers. Though he knew Chris wouldn't get the proverbial punchline of this, Wesker did, and he had to say he was more surprised by it than he thought he'd be.

Chris, who'd heard every last word, asked Wesker, "Who the hell was that?"

Wesker turned around to face him, the look on his face fairly unreadable. "An old acquaintance of mine, one who used to do various forms of work for Umbrella before he defected to something better."

"What? Working for _you_?," Chris asked, his tone unconvinced.

"You could say that, which proves that I was right about some of my own being involved in this."

Chris couldn't help but snort over the sentiment. "Then I'm just glad I survived to see you realize someone pulled a fast one on you."

"Hmph," Wesker scoffed, "you're not jealous it wasn't _you_ that managed to do it, are you?"

"Of course I am, but seeing it's just as good, and I'll take what I can get."

"How very predictable of you," Wesker replied drolly, which caused Chris to roll his eyes at the tyrant before him when Wesker then looked back at the PDA he held in his hand. The look was telling, and if he'd been wearing his shades, Chris would have missed it altogether. But Wesker had stuffed those inside of his jacket, making his eyes easy to see, and Chris could easily tell by it that there was something else to this that Wesker hadn't mentioned yet, and maybe even just figured out.

Letting his arms fall to his sides when he noticed it, Chris pointed it out aloud, "You know who's behind this now, don't you?"

Wesker was silent for a moment, and if he hadn't answered when he did, Chris would have grabbed him despite his strength and tried to demand some answers. But just before he could decide on doing that, Wesker started, "I think I may have a very solid idea of who is precisely, yes. I won't believe it until I see it for myself, but it's the only explanation I can think of now that I've seen Neddleson's face."

"Then who is it?"

Chris waited expectantly for an answer, but before Wesker could say a word, he was stopped by the sound of a loud explosion that took place on the far side of the building they were standing in front of.

It was the same side that Wesker's SUV had been parked on.

They all looked in that direction as flames rushed into their view from around the corner, the explosion loud enough that even Regan and Shannon could hear it inside of the RV. The only things solid that showed up in the rush of fire that remained of the vehicle was the hood of the car which crashed onto the parking lot's surface several feet away from where the explosion had occurred, and a tire that began to roll away from it.

Wesker, standing just ahead of Chris and Cecilia, plainly spoke the words, "And if I'm right, apparently she likes to be punctual with her promises."

Chris didn't like the sound of that, but as far as he was concerned, this was _Wesker's_ problem, not _his_. He would have told Wesker so as well, but he suddenly heard some groaning coming from the distance. Looking back and to his left, he noticed several zombies coming into view, some climbing through the open windows of cars parked around the lot and the pumps as if they'd been in some kind of hibernation mode until the explosion had awoken them, others moving along from the opposite side of the road across the way due to the sounds they'd all been making before, hobbling and limping through the piles of vehicles in order to reach the three people standing in the parking lot now.

Cecilia and Chris both took defensive stances, aiming with their weapons. From Chris's belt, they heard his name as Regan had gotten on the radio, saying, "Chris! Do you copy? Get back to the hummer, now! There's zombies on the way here!"

As she spoke the already detected warning, he could hear Dutch barking and snarling in the background, and to further compromise his focus, he looked to the side when Wesker spoke his name.

"I have a proposition for you Chris, and I won't mince words. You're likely heading to Dallas if the last broadcasts you heard were the same that I did."

Chris, still aiming at the zombies, had the thought that he didn't like where this was going, but the situation was growing dire and arguing wasn't going to help anything. "I might be."

"Then it seems we are both traveling in the same direction, and as you can see, my method of transportation has been...compromised."

Wesker didn't need to say more. Chris understood that he wanted to hitch a ride with him from those words alone. The most logical thing Chris could think of to say to him in that moment was, "Why the _fuck_ would I do that?"

Before Wesker could give the exasperated question any answer, Chris froze when he saw, heading toward the lot from across the road and beyond the dying flames of the SUV that had been parked around the corner, a tall, thick figure with blackened skin and some kind of suiting on its body. While it wasn't like typical monsters he'd fought in the past, it still bore resemblance to them, a tyrant of some type which he couldn't see completely clearly due to the heat of the flames making its appearance waver as it approached. But Chris didn't need to see it to know that it was apparently the cause of Wesker's now exploded vehicle—the now empty rocket launcher it had just flung away told him as much.

"Especially if _that's_ what's following you," Chris added quickly, his tone angry.

Wesker looked back only briefly, then wasted absolutely no time in telling Chris that, "You have numerous reasons why you shouldn't, Chris, but one very big reason why you _should_. If you do, in exchange, I'll tell you _exactly_ where your former partner is. You _do_ want to know what became of her after our last meeting, don't you?"

Chris couldn't help but give pause despite the tense situation. Jill? He'd always had a feeling, a question in his mind ever since she took the fall from the window of the Spencer Estate a year ago, if she was actually alive or not, especially when a body had never been recovered for her, nor for Wesker.

Before he could think about anything though, Wesker added, "You have little choice in this, Chris. Leave me here now and you will never know, or we can call a temporary truce and I'll give you what you want."

Chris knew Wesker was absolutely right in this case. With a near snarl, he turned around and, as they were drawing closer, he took out three of the zombies getting closer one by one to clear the path leading to the hummer, shooting each in the head while imagining Wesker's face on every single one.

Once they'd fallen to the pavement with blood splattering everywhere and laid unmoving, making room for the ones behind them to draw in closer for an attempted meal, Chris yelled, "Get in the goddamned car!"

Neither Wesker nor Cecilia wasted any time. They both began to move quickly, the tyrant behind them making its way into the parking lot now. As they went, Wesker stopped briefly and looked over to where the gas canisters Chris had to now leave behind were located, and then at the nearing tyrant. Instead of getting into the car, he went toward the pumps.

Up ahead, Chris had climbed into the hummer and started the engine as Cecilia got in on the opposite side, having chosen the backseat so that Wesker could get in the front since he was behind her, or she thought he was anyway. With Regan, Shannon, and Dutch still in the RV, Chris put the hummer in gear when he heard Cecilia asking, "Where did he go?"

It was in that moment that Chris looked up and spotted Wesker across the way, the tyrant who'd blown up his SUV following him. Wesker grabbed both of the canisters before he turned and threw one of them at the approaching monster. The large creature lifted an arm and knocked the hurtled item to the side, but gasoline still spattered out of it and all over him in the process.

Chris didn't wait to watch as this went on, simply put his foot onto the gas pedal and began to drive. As the hummer emerged from the side of the building, Wesker ducked to the side and out of the way as the dark skinned, white eyed tyrant reached him and attempted to grab him. Wesker and Cecilia had both gotten a better look at the creature when he'd picked her up from Olathe. He was more advanced than many, and Wesker assumed he operated on a computer chip with remote control capabilities. It would make sense anyway when the tyrant had some old stitching scars along the top of its cranium, suggesting that someone had implanted one. This meant that the tyrant's mission objectives could be changed and overwritten at any time.

He was much taller than Wesker, and much more built than Chris, with overly large hands and a disproportionate, narrowly slender face that didn't fit the size of the body it had in some odd way. But this was the last thing that Wesker was considering as he rolled across the pavement and stood back up to escape the creature's grasp, then turned and headed toward the moving vehicle that Chris was now driving along the edge of the lot.

Seeing Wesker coming, Cecilia reached up to the front seat and pushed the door open as he'd tugged out his weapon and took a shot at a zombie about five feet away from him to make sure the creature didn't get in the way, then gave her the one canister he still held onto when he reached the progressively-moving-faster vehicle. Once Cecilia had grabbed the item and pulled it into the backseat, Wesker, running alongside the car, grasped the edge and stepped up on the side rail while the vehicle continued moving.

He didn't climb in straight away however, holding onto the side of the traveling hummer while Chris navigated so they could make it out of there in due time. Instead, Wesker hung onto the side and took aim with his magnum, the slow-moving tyrant still located relevantly close to the pumps, but more importantly, close to the canister Wesker had thrown at him earlier, and Wesker waited for just the right moment.

As they got further away, he finally took a shot, squeezing the trigger quickly.

The bullet went speeding through the shaft and from the barrel of his weapon, the friction of the air it began to cut through making the tip of the metal object heat up rapidly, burning its way along and buzzing on past the right side of the tyrant still trying to follow them down, missing it completely. The bullet then slammed itself into the halfway filled gas canister laying on the pavement behind the monster instead, and a flame erupted out of it, close enough that the gasoline staining the ground now, as well as the tyrant, also ignited.

It wouldn't stop the creature more than likely, no, but it would slow him down for a while, as well as the roaming zombies coming up behind them, giving them all a better chance of escape. The tyrant didn't seem distracted as it was set aflame at first, but eventually, it would have to stop to try to put itself out.

Wesker put his gun back into his trench coat as the fires continued to lap at the pavement, the tyrant, and the pumps. Eventually it might even make the whole area explode, which wouldn't be of any loss to the world at large, all things considered. Wesker turned, finally climbing inside of the hummer completely before he shut the door. Settling himself, he looked into the rear view mirror to see that they were getting distance on the creature that was following fairly swiftly while he reached into his trench coat and tugged out his shades.

Turning his gaze from the mirror, Wesker began inspecting them, then used his gloved left thumb to wipe a speck off before he placed them back over his eyes.

Chris watched Wesker doing this for a moment before focusing on the road again, completely unimpressed by what Wesker had just done though his anger over the situation was as bad as it could get without resorting to physical violence in order to alleviate it. Seeing the man being so calm and simply slipping a pair of shades back onto his face while he felt that way wasn't helping any either.

In order to get his mind off of it, or at least try to alleviate a little bit of his anger—hopefully—Chris said, "Tell me you weren't lying about Jill, because if she's actually dead, then I'll kill you right now."

Wesker scoffed, and made sure Chris heard it. "Save your threats, Chris, it wasn't a heat of the moment lie in attempt to gain something I needed, she is alive. Perhaps not as well as when you last saw her, but she _is_ still breathing."

"How do you know for sure?," Chris pointed out angrily. "You've been just as stranded out in the real world as everyone else for the past few weeks."

"That _is_ true, but if the broadcasts we heard were accurate, then she has survived and, more than likely, is well taken care of where she is." He sounded very confident of that fact, and Chris hated it. He didn't interrupt though as Wesker went on, "But the deal was for us to go to Dallas, _then_ I would divulge the information. Not the other way around."

"I don't believe you, and you know it."

Wesker was quiet, and Chris glanced over at him to see if he might be about to say anything. It took quite a few minutes, but finally, he seemed to make the decision to begin telling him a little more.

"Fine, I'll give you a few tidbits on the situation to sate you. After Jill so selflessly threw herself from a window in order to save your life, I woke to find her still alive, but definitely not unscathed. Had I not awoken when I had, she _would_ be dead now. But I salvaged her, and while she was in a comatose state, I learned that she would more than likely never walk again."

"Comatose?"

"Yes, but she eventually awoke, and now has some memory problems according to my latest reports, problems she hasn't quite recovered from. The most I can say is that I know precisely where she is and what is going on, and according to the latest news broadcast on the air before the signals went down, I still do. If you want more information than that, you will simply have to wait until we're in Dallas to find out."

It was enough, Chris decided, to at least temper himself until something more could be said or done. But the way Wesker wanted to go to Dallas didn't settle well with him. Chris pointed it out by asking, "So what then, you trying to blackmail me for some kind of pardon? Because even _you_ know that wouldn't work. They're not just going to let you into the city, not without apprehending you and putting you under heavy surveillance."

"I'm simply using insurance to secure my way for now, Chris. In return, not only will you learn the completed fate of your former partner, but you may also be helping to restore a bit of the world to its former self. Believe it or not, I can do much more than simply _start_ an outbreak."

"Oh, yeah," Chris scoffed impatiently, "you can use it to your _advantage_. Silly me, I nearly forgot."

Wesker didn't comment, and when he remained silent, Chris felt a mixture of emotions swelling up in him so intensely that he damned near stopped the car and put it into park despite the situation they were trying to escape in order to have a confrontation right then and there. But one thing stopped him, and that was the thought of the little girl in the RV he had hitched to the hummer now.

He couldn't endanger her, though he felt like he already was by dragging Wesker along with them. What the hell had he gotten them into?

"This is no picnic for me either, Chris," Wesker said after a few moments of tense silence between them both. "If you think I _want_ to ride along with _you_, you are sadly mistaken."

"Then I'll stop the car first chance I get and you can walk your ass to Dallas. Or run that fucking...Speedy Gonzales run you like to do."

Wesker would have made a reply to the crack, but a sudden snicker came from the back seat. It got both of the men's attention because they'd forgotten all about the passenger they had riding along with them. Wesker looked up into the rear view mirror at her, and when Cecilia saw it, she shrugged.

"What, it was funny."

At least she had a sense of humor, Chris decided, but instead of saying so, he asked, "And who is she? I know you're not in the habit of taking in the helpless and needy."

Cecilia didn't let Wesker answer for her, and instead, she told him who she was herself. "Cecilia Chase. Wesker happened across me in Olathe, Colorado about three days ago now."

"Olathe?," Chris asked.

"Yes," Wesker spoke before Cecilia could speak for herself. "It's a small town of about 1500, and she'd managed to survive. I thought she might prove useful on the way to Dallas so I offered to bring her along."

"Oh, now I get it, she's someone you can throw to the wolves to get yourself out of a tight spot whenever you feel like it, huh?" Chris looked at Cecilia through the rear view mirror then and added, "Whatever he's told you, sweetheart, it's a lie."

"I know already," she said to Chris in response. "The bastard let zombies attack me just so he could test a theory."

"Oh, good, then I don't have to explain anything," Chris replied, the expression on his face less than amused. "Why are you still riding along with him then?"

"What else could I do? It's not like there's a taxi service around anymore," Cecilia informed Chris plainly. "Besides, he _was_ right. I'd have to leave Olathe eventually, and it's not like people were lining up to drive in everyday, ready to pick someone up for safety, so I took my chance when I got it."

Chris let a little sigh. If she _really_ knew what Wesker was capable of, she might've opted to just put a gun against her cranium right then and there rather than accept a ride from him. Hopefully though, now that she'd come along with them, it wouldn't come to something like that. Maybe bringing Wesker with him was a _good_ thing and Chris could save this woman some needless grief.

"If you're done slandering me in order to make yourself feel better, I think we have _other_ issues to discuss, Chris," Wesker pointed out, getting Chris's mind off of the woman in the backseat of his hummer. Sarcastically, he added, "I managed to salvage one of your gasoline canisters after all, so the least you could do is entertain the notion of a civil discussion."

"So talk, we've got nothing but time and a long road ahead of us."

"Don't remind me," Wesker replied.

They got quiet then as if contemplating the trip ahead of themselves together and dreading it. Cecilia looked back and forth between the two as Chris continued to drive down the road, and then she finally let out an irritated sigh of breath. "You know, I was _bored_ in the SUV with how quiet it was, but if you two are going to bicker like a married couple all the way to Dallas, I'll take my chances walking."

Letting a low sigh of breath, Chris figured she was right. Finally, he asked Wesker, "Alright, you said you had a good idea after seeing the man on the PDA who was behind this. So who is it?"

"Sherry Birkin," Wesker said without pause.

Chris's brows furrowed. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"You don't remember?," Wesker asked, glancing over at his former subordinate for a brief moment before he looked back through the windshield again and explained. "She's the daughter of the late William Birkin, the Umbrella researcher who developed the G Virus."

Now that rang a bell. Chris couldn't help himself from narrowing his brows. "Birkin," he repeated, the name by itself more familiar without 'Sherry' in front of it. "He was killed in Raccoon City."

"Yes," Wesker replied, his tone droll, the thought of how Birkin died something that Wesker had always deemed a death the scientist had invited upon himself. But he didn't tell Chris that, and only continued with their topic. "Thomas Neddleson was a researcher who excelled in biochemistry, and after the destruction of Raccoon City, he sought outside employment, fearing his life would be forfeit because he knew too much and Umbrella has a way of silencing those who do."

"As if you have to tell me that," Chris grumbled out blandly.

"So I offered him a job," Wesker continued as if Chris hadn't spoken.

"Doing what exactly?"

"Teaching high school."

That hadn't exactly been something that Chris was expecting for Wesker to say. It made him draw a blank, and he gave the black-clad man an odd look that said he thought he was crazy.

"Teaching high school?"

"Yes, in order to watch a very bright child, one who had lost her parents in Raccoon City." As he spoke, the picture was already falling together for Chris, but Wesker explained anyway, "Sherry Birkin had to be kept an eye on. Everyone in her life became a plant after her parents' untimely demise, from the most basic of teachers to her foster parents. She lived well enough in ignorance of this, and was, unsurprisingly, exceptional in science and math, including _chemistry_."

When Wesker enunciated that word, Chris sighed, supplying, "So you think this Neddleson might've done something."

"It wouldn't be unheard of, and Neddleson was the primary plant when it came to reporting on the child. He was always quite happy to report on her affinity for chemistry and how easily she seemed to learn it."

Chris let out a soft sigh of breath, deciding not to make any kinds of comments on the moral implications of all of this because Wesker didn't have a set of morals. Well, he did, but they were severely warped. So instead, he asked Wesker, "Did she have access to the same things you did then? Namely the missile launch codes?"

"No, she didn't even know I was watching, or so I was told anyway. Which is why I'm so surprised by this. Neddleson isn't the type to be the brains behind such a wide scale operation, but Sherry had potential, even I could see that. Perhaps I should have watched her personally as it seems her influence and persuasion is nearly equivalent to that of her mother's," Wesker added and rolled his eyes in annoyance, over the thought of Annette, then finished, "saying I'm correct in assuming that she coerced Neddleson and who knows how many others anyway."

Chris wasn't even sure he wanted to ask, but it was Cecilia who spoke next, saving him from the task of making up his mind. "Wait, what are you talking about exactly? Some child of a scientist you used to know managed to cause all of _this_ to happen?"

"It's possible, and she's no longer a child. She's in her twenties now," Wesker replied. "But mere persuasion to evade _me_ is one thing. She must have been able to extend her grasp somehow, into government agencies themselves in order to manipulate these events. She wouldn't have been able to fire so many missiles as she has without being tracked otherwise. She probably has numerous accomplices working with her, perhaps even some inside my own facilities."

"Poor you," Chris replied, his tone completely bereft of any 'I give a shit' emotion.

"No, poor world," Wesker corrected him.

"Someone said that ten times the day you were born, Wesker. Saying you ever were."

"God, knock it off," Cecelia muttered out. "Or let me get in the RV you've got hitched to this thing either one. Who are you anyway, and why do you hate each other so much?," she asked Chris then, realizing she hadn't yet.

"Chris Redfield," Chris replied, "BSAA member and the guy who managed to fuck up some of Wesker's plans around ten years ago now. Should explain enough if you know how much he likes for things to go his way."

"Hmph," Cecilia drew out. "Yeah, that explanation works. So now what? You two argue all the way to Dallas before you kill one another, or are you going to _seriously try_. Because if not, then I'd get myself killed easier sticking with you than being on my own, and so would...whoever's in that RV back there that I heard on your radio earlier."

Chris sighed. Cecilia was like a voice of reason coming out of the backseat that he really didn't want to listen to just then. But the mere thought of it, an alliance with Albert Wesker of all people, made him want to vomit. Hell, maybe he would, and do it right on Wesker's lap.

The only thing he knew for certain in that moment was that this trip had just gotten about ten times more interesting, and a hundred times more dangerous. Chris was going to have to watch his step carefully from here on out, as if he hadn't been doing just that already.

The last thing he could think to question was the tyrant chasing Wesker now. It was important to see if he knew anything more about it after all, so Chris started simply enough by asking the man, "You think Sherry masterminded the tyrant chasing you too?"

"She likely has a hand in it if the theory that she's behind this is correct."

"What do you know about it?"

Wesker glanced over at Chris briefly, but only as if he were trying to sum up everything he had in his head about the question being asked. Then he looked ahead again and said, "It's been following me for nearly two weeks now, so it was likely deployed whenever the missiles struck, or when they found out I wasn't in confinement as they'd planned anyway. I've been uncertain if its objective is to kill me or simply contain me however. As you can see, it only took out my mode of transportation earlier when it _could_ have used the launcher it carried to kill all of us with as near to the pumps as we are."

"True. Maybe you know something they need, so it only wants to apprehend you."

"That was my estimate, and I've noticed a stitching scar across the top of its head, suggesting that it's operating on implanted remote control, like the Nemesis sent to Raccoon City to take out the surviving S.T.A.R.S. Members had, simply more advanced. If the connection could be severed, it may shut the tyrant down completely, which is one of the universal drawbacks to having such control. Then again, it may continue on, simply without the ability to have its mission objectives altered."

"Any other weaknesses that could be exploited then?," Chris asked, and for once, he was glad for Wesker's knowledge concerning these types of things.

"No, not that I know of. This is not a model I engineered, so I don't know its precise workings."

A moment of silence passed between the two men after that when another voice sounded in the backseat. "You...you build those things?," came Cecilia's sudden, incredulous question.

"Not any longer," Wesker replied, his tone merely informative as if he didn't care one way or the other whether he used to or still did.

"Well, I'll just take comfort in knowing that you _used to_ then," Cecilia grumbled out, settling back in her seat completely with a soft sigh of breath.

Chris knew the look he spied on her face in the rear view mirror all too well as he continued driving. He just hoped the talk made her realize what kind of person they had with them, saying she truly hadn't yet. But so far, she seemed to know that he at least couldn't be trusted, so she was on the right path.

"Wesker, you mentioned severing the connection might shut it down. What would it take to do that?"

"I would normally suggest decapitation. The implant has to be housed in the cranium considering where the surgical scars are. But this one may have a back up device stored somewhere else in the body. There is an alternate method that involves blocking the signal, but this couldn't be achieved without knowing what channel its operation is based upon and having a device that could generate a signal strong enough to disrupt it."

"Decapitation it is then," Chris summed up much more generically, adding, "if it works."

"Yes, but it will continue chasing us until then, so we'll need a plan to keep moving in the meantime. How were the driving arrangements before I arrived?"

"We drove during the day and hunkered down at night," Chris replied.

"Then tonight, you can retire and I'll take the wheel after spending the day resting."

Chris looked over at Wesker, his expression somewhat uncertain. "Not that keeping up the pace overnight isn't a good idea, bu—," and he stopped because Wesker interrupted him.

"Now you're simply being paranoid instead of mistrusting, Chris. What could I possibly achieve by driving us all into some trap?"

Chris groaned under his breath, looking to the opposite side at the passing scenery of rocky walls rising up around them for a moment, and then ahead again. Finally, he breathed out the word, "Fine. But we're going to have to plan a more solid route in that case, so the both of us will know where we're going."

"Agreed, though I never thought I would say those words to you again."

"Likewise, I never thought I'd hear them. As long as we promise to start fighting again once this is all over though, I think we can endure it."

So it was done. Despite their mutual hatred for one another, Chris Redfield and Albert Wesker were now on the road together for a long drive to Dallas filled with the undead before them, and a good bit of danger coming in behind them. In reality, it might've taken until the next day to reach the city, but with the uncertainties along the roadways ahead, there was no telling when they might arrive.

Neither of them knew the immediate future, they only knew that they were in the same boat, and while neither of them admitted it, nor wanted to admit it, they had a much bigger chance of success together than they did on their own of reaching their intended destination.

Their alliance had begun, for better or for worse. Now it was up to time to decide the outcome of it all.


	18. Infiltration

_Chapter 17 - Infiltration_

_ December 2nd, 2007_

_ Dallas, Texas_

_ 5:33 PM_

"Tell them I'll be up there shortly, I've got a meeting with the General now that I can't miss."

Leon had given that comment to an ensign who'd been tasked with debriefing him on a new development while he was walking down one of the nicely decorated hallways inside of the Sheraton Dallas Hotel, a very nice establishment which had been seized by the military for various reasons. All travel within the United States had been put on a tight lock down, not as if anyone _wanted_ to travel with the way things were currently, so it wasn't as if the hotel was going to get much business anyway.

Most of the rooms were being used now as living spaces for survivors and people who had no where else to go. The rest were being used for military personnel, including Leon and Claire who currently called the establishment their home. Though Claire wasn't affiliated with the military, her organization was working closely with it at current to make sure survivors and the like got what they needed. So she was considered a part of the personnel and given some limited access to areas where civilians were forbidden to enter, though not quite as many places as Leon did.

Leon was on his way to the board room currently where General Redfield was waiting for him with a few other people. Since so much of the military called the Sheraton their home now, the board room had become somewhat of a permanent meeting center for them to go to in order to discuss issues and other things which rose up from time to time.

Leon took the elevator, pressing the button for down and waiting until the door opened, allowing three cadets who were currently getting off duty and heading home to exit the unit before he stepped in and pressed the button for the floor he needed, allowing the doors to shut on him. As the elevator started lowering, he lifted his right hand and looked at his watch. The time said 5:33 PM, and he thought about what that meant.

Claire would be off of work soon if her day had gone normally. She'd go back to their room and clean it up, fix some dinner maybe, and then run a few errands for her uncle before she would retire and try to get in contact with her brother again like she always did. Leon would get a break, and go back like always to a cozy room, some food, and a warm, loving wife before he had to go back out and do some more work.

He was luckier than most, and he counted every blessing he had. With a sigh of breath, he looked back up at the doors, seeing his reflection in them. Sometimes, when he saw himself anymore, he questioned that face. Not only did he feel like he looked a lot older than he used to, but also, had he done anything wrong? Had he missed something somewhere? Could he make up for past mistakes, or simply restore the world somehow? Was any of this his fault?

The doors opened, parting his face in two for a moment before he saw the hallway beyond it, and with the reflections went the questions he'd been asking himself. For weeks now, he had only one certainty in mind. He remembered the precise moment the world had changed, and that was the night he'd seen the missiles flying overhead in Washington D.C.. His one certainty was that he was thankful he had seen them, even if there was nothing that could have been done to stop them. He was grateful to have been given the chance to react as quickly as he had, to save as many people as possible, and he was certain he wouldn't stop fighting until he was dead.

Those thoughts were in mind as he'd made his way to the board room, but he let them go as he reached the doors where two soldiers were standing watch immediately to each side of the doorway. Not only that, but there were also two more men settled at differing positions in the hall, these men being secret service agents. Leon also knew that the room behind him carried a greater number of the protective agents, and all because there was a man of importance within the doors ahead of himself—three actually, the main one being the Vice President of the United States.

The others included, besides General George F. Redfield, a Senator from Georgia, also an important figure, and one of the Vice President's assistants. So this wasn't a meeting that was to be taken lightly.

Leon presented his identification to the soldiers outside of the room before they gave him clearance, opening the door for him and allowing him inside. He stopped before he entered though and stood to the side when a secretary walked past in order to exit the room, perhaps the Senator's secretary, Leon thought, watching her as she made eye contact briefly. But she lowered her gaze and her brunette head down somewhat quickly when they did. There was a dot of sweat rolling down her temple, catching Leon's attention momentarily before he also noticed her hand was fisted around an object he couldn't see or identify, but then became distracted when he heard the General inside the board room speaking.

"It's about time you showed up, Leon. You're nearly seven minutes late."

Leon smirked as he turned and walked into the room, letting the soldiers shut the doors behind him. Casually, he replied, "Sorry General, I was caught by an ensign you sent down who needed to debrief me on a situation."

Leon usually addressed Claire's uncle as George, but only when they were in more casual settings, which wasn't often anymore. When in the company of others, specifically elected officials like the ones in the room now, he referred to George by his title and last name.

"One of _your_ men makes him late, yet you chide him," Vice President Douglas Snider commented to George, his tone amused.

"I _would_ stick my foot in my mouth, wouldn't I?," George replied, grinning in amusement.

As Leon walked over to them, Douglas shrugged with the words, "We all seem to do that more often than not anymore." Then he looked at Leon and held out a hand in greeting. "Leon, it's been a while."

"That it has. How is Atlanta? Stable, I hope."

"For the time being. That's one of the main reasons I'm here," Douglas responded, then lowered his hand from Leon's and motioned to the Senator, "This is Senator Harold Benning of Georgia."

Leon shook the shorter man's hand when it was offered. Vice President Snider, who was about Leon's age, was a good bit taller, even than Leon, though fairly skinny, and had a crop of blonde hair cut neatly around his head. Harold Benning, on the other hand, was a good bit older, older than George even, and was a little overweight, though he was stocky with a balding head of dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache.

"I've heard a good deal about you, Agent Kennedy," Benning told him. "It's nice to meet you finally."

"Thank you," Leon replied, saying nothing more because there wasn't really anything _to_ say except for, "it's an honor."

Leon had never met this senator before, but he'd certainly heard his name. Benning was a politician, one that Leon didn't always agree with the views of but also didn't really care about agreeing with him on them. Aside from that, Leon knew the man had led a vanilla life on the surface, but underneath, he often liked to cheat on his wife, or so Leon's intel went. But Leon trusted Hunnigan. She was usually right about everything, even when she was wrong. He didn't smile when he had the thought, though he did make a mental note to mention it to her sometime because she'd probably get a chuckle or two out of it.

"The honor's all mine," Benning added, and then released Leon's hand. "Vice President, you didn't have anyone else you wanted to call on?"

"No, Leon was the only one aside from the General that I wanted this told to, and I want them informed right away. Since we can't completely trust our satellite systems yet, coming here was, of course, the best idea."

"Right, you said it was a delicate matter," George commented, Claire's uncle standing just a slight bit taller than Leon at full height, with a thicker build than most, especially for a man of his age, and gray hair that he still had a full head of kept neatly buzzed beneath his peaked cap which sported his rank in the Air Force. General Redfield was the highest ranking officer in Dallas currently, Dallas being his assignment right now, and his superior was stationed in Atlanta. So for all intents and purposes, George Redfield was one of the top men in the city just then.

This meeting had been made in complete secrecy due to this. The people in the room were very important figures right now, people a terrorist would like to take out of the picture for various reasons, and the security outside of the room were all that knew what was going to be taking place.

"That is it," Douglas replied to George's comment about their meeting being over a delicate matter, and then motioned for everyone to settle themselves at the table. Leon turned and grabbed a chair, deciding it would be nice to get off of his feet for once. Benning settled a few seats away from him, Douglas and is assistant on the other side, and George went to sit at the head, putting Leon between himself and the senator.

Because of the delicacy of the situation, Leon couldn't help but ask as he sat down, "Who's secretary was that who just left?"

"Benning's. Her name's Lindsey. She's coming back, she needed to use the lady's room," Douglas told him.

"I see," Leon replied, then asked the next most obvious question. "General Redfield doesn't know about this either?"

"Not yet, no. It was deemed too risky to let out in light of things. We came here to inform him mainly, but considering you're our most experienced agent in these situations, we have to make sure you're up to date as well."

Leon turned his attention over to Benning when the man spoke next. "I don't want to beat around the bush, Mr. Kennedy, so I'll get straight to the point. I'm certain you know about the evidence stating that there were spies within the government manipulating these recent, tragic events, correct?"

Leon gave a silent nod even though he thought the senator sounded like he might've been addressing an audience instead of two people when he spoke, wondering if politicians just picked that habit up over time or something. But he didn't comment on it and allowed the man to continue.

After a short moment, Benning sighed, saying, "The Governor of Georgia died yesterday."

"I'd heard about that, in a helicopter crash coming from Boston. The wreckage was overrun by zombies before anyone could get there," George stated.

"That's...the public story," the Vice President spoke in contradiction.

Leon's brows narrowed, wondering what might've actually happened to the governor, his and George's faces looking equally as intent on what was being said before they both turned their attention back to Benning when he spoke again. "It was important not to let out the truth to the surviving people, otherwise a panic would be had. But the truth of the matter is that the governor was in his office in Atlanta, and though Atlanta, like Dallas, is quarantined, he became...infected."

"Infected?," Leon asked.

Douglas was the next to speak, telling Leon precisely what happened. "Yes, he got up and apparently tried to...eat my assistant here. He's fine as you can see, but it happened without any forewarning."

The assistant, named Richard Cromley, gave a nod of his head. "I thought he was just trying to get my attention, but the next thing I know, he...well," Richard grew quiet as he told Leon, "you've seen it."

Leon didn't comment on the things he'd seen, though he did say, "I'm glad he didn't manage to hurt you, but," he paused, then looked over at George to see the man was just as confounded as he was before asking the Senator and Vice President, "are there any ideas of how he became infected to begin with?"

"Someone's working for the terrorists who started all of this," Benning said, his tone somewhat angry but confident of the theory. "They're in league, and we're afraid security within the quarantined cities may be compromised. The terrorists seem to be trying to infect what few zones we have left."

Leon sighed inaudibly, then asked Benning, "So who was with the Governor that day? It doesn't take long for infection to set in. Did anyone compile a list of names of those who were with him at least a few hours before he became infected?"

"We did," Benning responded. "The list came up to six people."

Richard had a paper in his hand which he'd pulled out and opened up, handing to Leon who held it where George could also see as the assistant told them, "Those are the names. It includes myself obviously as I was attacked, the Vice President was there when it happened, and the governor's personal secretary. Before then, a postal worker had come by with a package for the Governor that turned out to be condolences for his lost niece, and Benning had been there earlier with his secretary as well."

"We tracked down the postal worker," Benning explained before Leon could ask anything about it. "He and the Governor's secretary are now in holding."

Douglas let out a sigh and addressed Benning by saying, "Harold, that postal worker _has_ to be innocent." Then he looked at Leon and added, "He actually...well, urinated the moment he was arrested, cried all the way in, and spent the rest of his interrogation blubbering about how he knew nothing. He's still in holding, but just until we can be absolutely certain of things."

"Did you question the secretaries?," Leon asked then.

"We did, and the governor's is also in holding. Richard was the only victim here aside from the Governor," Douglas added, "so I doubt he would've infected the man just to be attacked by him."

"That's a good point, but if you go by _that_ logic," Leon pointed out plainly, "then the delivery man is the only one who _could_ be a suspect since he was the only one that was in and out of the office. Infection times of the T Virus can vary like I said, and some people begin to turn immediately. Anyone working to try to infect another person would know to get out of range as soon as possible, even after only a few minutes. Whoever did this wouldn't have just stuck around to wait and see. At least, they wouldn't have done it for very long."

Douglas looked as if that was indeed a valid point. Benning, on the other hand, shook his head, "What matters here is that someone's in league with the terrorists manipulating this, and we need to come up with a means of rooting them out."

Leon looked over at Benning, and as he did, George began to speak, saying, "That's what we're trying to do, Senator," and the way he spoke the words reminded Leon of Chris because they carried that edge that told someone that what he'd said was the bottom line, end of the story. George then went on to say, "Leon has a good point. If I myself were going to infect someone, I'd be in and out as soon as I could manage it, rather than wait to be attacked. So perhaps your postal worker only pissed himself because he knew his number was up."

Leon looked over the paper again while George spoke before he let go of it, allowing it to fall to the table before finally training his eyes away from Benning's name on the list and onto the man himself. Without qualm, he said, "You were in the Governor's office half an hour before he attacked Mr. Cromley, and you were only in there for ten minutes. That's the second shortest time we have."

Benning gave Leon a stern look, asking, "You're not insinuating that _I_ would attack my own friend? I'd known Miles since we were children, we grew up outside of Atlanta together. What would I have to gain by killing him?"

"What does someone have to gain by starting this outbreak to begin with?," Leon asked in return. "It's possible, Senator."

Benning glared at him. "It's completely preposterous is what it is!"

"What about your secretary then?," Leon asked as if Benning weren't yelling angrily at all over the insinuations, and instead, just having a cup of tea. "This paper says she was with you."

"She's worked for me for fifteen years now, and she's a shining example of loyalty," Benning assured Leon. "As I'd said, Miles was a friend of mine, so I most certainly had nothing to do with this! Lindsey was questioned, the same as the others. We were _all_ questioned! She wasn't even around the Governor for more than a few moments, so there was no time for her to inject him with something, and if she had, I would've seen it."

Leon wanted to point out that injection wasn't the only means of infection, but he was stopped from saying anything at all. The doors opened, and the soldiers let the secretary Leon had seen before back into the room, the same one they were questioning now. She was carrying a tray with her that had a pitcher of water on it and five glasses, all of them full while the pitcher was only a third of the way full. She carried it to the table at the far side, near Benning, and began to pass out the glasses just as Benning began to speak.

"Lindsey, you were in the governor's office when the attack happened, so why don't you make a little statement for the record?"

The woman looked at her boss when he addressed her and gave a nod of her head. "We were in and out, we just needed to pick up a copy of the Governor's report. It was on his desk and ready to go. You had a short chat with him at the door, and I grabbed the the report and put it into my folder. Then we left."

The water glasses were being passed around, and they came to a stop by everyone, including Leon who paid no visible attention to the words being said as he looked each one of them over. Richard had gone to lift his to his mouth when Leon suddenly shook his head and asked, "Did you slip him something into a glass of water on his desk like these," he asked pointedly before continuing, "while he was talking with your boss?"

Silence encompassed the room. Lindsey looked at Leon quickly, her eyes a little wide, and Richard was now frozen in place with his lips slightly parted and his eyes trained on the contents of the cup he'd just lifted—and had almost completed lifting—to his mouth.

"I...I just brought these because the meeting was going to be a long one," she said in response to the accusation, her face a mask of confused anxiety.

George looked down at his own glass and took in a slow breath. Finally, he asked on an understanding tone of voice, "Leon, just out of curiosity, why are you so certain?"

"There's three reasons," Leon started. "First of all, the way she looked at me when she left the office, downcast gaze and sweating even though this building is climate controlled. Secondly, she had something enclosed in her fist, possibly a vial. I couldn't see it at the time, didn't even know she was _your_ secretary, and if you hadn't said this was her when you did, Senator Benning, I _still_ wouldn't have known. We would've just drank this contaminated water and become zombies ourselves in a few hours more than likely."

More silence passed after Leon spoke, tension in the air between everyone. "That's all a hunch," Benning pointed out after a moment.

Looking over at him, Leon suggested casually, "Then go ahead and drink the water."

Benning looked down at his glass and then back at Leon again. Leon lifted a single brow as if to say he was waiting for Benning to show as much confidence in his staff member as he'd said he had, or allude to the fact that his secretary was just as easily capable of this as the postal worker was, and his pride played no part in the situation.

When Benning hesitated, Leon looked back over at Lindsey and said, "In fact, why don't you pour yourself a glass? Sit down and take a load off with the rest of us instead of standing there ready to go."

The secretary took her glass and lifted it to her mouth, drinking the contents without question. Once she was done, swallowing the water down, she set the glass back onto the table and shrugged her shoulders, saying, "It's nice and watery."

Leon snorted, then he stood up. The secretary narrowed her brows at him as he walked around the table, past Benning's position, and to where she was standing, but he wasn't looking at her. Instead, he reached over to the pitcher on the tray and lifted it up. Once in hand, he turned the pitcher and poured some of the water into her glass, and when it was back to the same amount it had been before, he settled it back down and looked over at Lindsey.

"Now drink it."

Lindsey stared at him quietly, but she never made a move. In the meantime, Richard looked horrified, Benning looked uncertain, Douglas was watching this quietly, and George let out a groan, though he trusted Leon's instincts more than anyone else's at that table currently. When the secretary never moved to drink from the glass, George made a very pointed statement.

"I, for one, won't be drinking anything unless I poured it myself."

About ten minutes later after some resistance on Lindsey's part, the doors opened up and soldiers were escorting her away, handcuffed and struggling, a bag of evidence in the hands of more men following in behind her, which included the tray of drinks she'd passed out to them and a vial that had been found concealed within Lindsey's red blazer. Leon had no doubts that traces of the T Virus would show up everywhere, teams coming to sterilize the room right that minute.

Douglas had walked over to Leon and let out a groan, asking him, "Alright, how did you know about the glasses?"

"Easily. The condensation. Our cups were all chilled, but hers wasn't, which meant she got it from a different source, probably a sink in the kitchen by the waiting room where she put the tray together. It'd be a good idea to have someone sterilize that room as well."

With a sigh of breath, Douglas shook his head. "This is why I wish you were still in my office, Leon. You sure you won't reconsider coming back to Atlanta?"

"For now," Leon replied. Ever since this had happened, the military had made the most use of Leon's skills, which meant he wasn't just privy to the elected officials of the government anymore. "I still have business in Dallas, Doug, and I need to make sure it's done. Once it is, I might consider going there for a while, then to Boston, try to spread myself out."

Douglas gave him a small smile, saying, "Well, at least now we have a new lead on this whole mess. I trust you'll handle her interrogation with ease and get some more names for us."

"I'll do my best," Leon told the man with a sigh of breath, then looked over at George when he'd stepped up to them.

"This mess is nothing short of a pain in the ass," he groaned out, not always so eloquent, another trait of his that reminded Leon of Chris. "We're going to have to institute much stricter policies until all of the infiltration can be rooted out. In all of America, we've only managed to quarantine three cities for certain, and then _this_ happens."

"Like I said before, General," Leon replied, "we have them quarantined, but we have to make sure it _stays_ that way. The city is under Martial Law, but we're going to have to get more patrols out on the streets and specifically, in the upper offices."

Leon and George had this conversation already. Though search and rescue was a high priority, maintaining the quarantined areas was at the top, and George agreed with him. They would have to sacrifice search and rescue teams for this to be done, but it was important, otherwise they'd lose what they'd managed to save so far.

"I just hope Claire can understand that," George muttered out, the obvious thought of his missing nephew in mind.

Leon looked over at his uncle by marriage and gave a nod of his head. "I'm sure she will. She knows better than anyone why it's so important to keep these cities clean. There'd be no reason to try to contact Chris at all if he has nothing to come here for."

Not too long afterward that conversation, Leon was in his living room with those same old thoughts in mind. He was worried about the same thing that George and Claire was—Chris. Neither one of them knew if Chris was alive, but sacrificing the effort of search and rescue would cut Chris's chances down, and Claire wouldn't be completely thrilled with the verdict. Leon knew she'd understand it, but it would, of course, make her worry even more.

Leon sat on the couch in the living room of his suite, dragging his hands over his mouth as he thought about this, about how to tell his wife that Chris might have to find his own way to Dallas rather than anyone spotting him if he managed to get near the city. The trouble was that no one approached the city on foot, not without being greeted by snipers and warnings not to come any closer or be shot on sight. Reportedly, a handful of people had been killed that way already, probably in too much of a panic to listen, seeking shelter and wanting safety.

Of course, that had been before, when there were more zombies roaming around outside of the city and the military hadn't yet taken them out. Not to mention, Leon thought to himself, Chris wasn't stupid. Still, it raised concerns, and Leon didn't like to think of them. Hell, with the situation Huston was in, Leon wondered how Dallas had managed to survive, but here it was.

The door opened not too long after that, telling Leon it was Claire immediately because she was the only other person with a key to their room. He didn't say anything at first though, letting her come in to get herself settled, and when he heard his name, he looked back and over at her.

"Hey, didn't think you'd be home this early."

"Neither did I," Leon replied as Claire came over around the couch and sat down next to him. He lifted an arm and put it over her shoulders when she leaned against him, then sat back, getting more comfortable than he'd been previously.

Claire let her head rest on his shoulder, and she sighed softly, asking, "You look tired, have a rough day?"

It was always difficult for Leon because there were things that happened on his job that he couldn't share with his wife, things that became classified, and George knew the sentiment because he couldn't tell his own wife certain things. This was something that had gotten Leon into a stronger friendship with George, and he let a little groan as he thought about that afternoon. The incident with Lindsey was one of the things he wouldn't be able to share with Claire completely.

So instead, he told her the bright side of what had happened. "Somewhat. We managed to catch someone involved with everything going on. I have to go in a bit to interrogate her and my schedule was wiped for the rest of the evening so I could make them wait and sweat a bit."

"Why you?," Claire asked, her voice somewhat disappointed. "Let someone else do it."

Leon smirked, then rubbed her arm up and down gently. "I don't want to _go_, but I'd rather it be me than anyone else in this particular situation. I know more names of the potential suspects off the top of my head than anyone, so if she says something and someone else misses it, well, you know what could happen."

"I know," Claire sighed, then turned a smile up at his face. "As long as you promise to be back soon."

"As soon as I can, sweetheart," he told her earnestly if not a little playfully, then kissed her forehead. It wasn't Claire's fault she didn't want Leon to go if his schedule had been wiped for the evening. They rarely got much time alone very often, so he knew how she felt. But for now he was free, and once he'd settled back again, he let out a sigh, looking her face over before he told her something else important to him.

"I love you, Claire."

"What did you do?," she asked him suspiciously, though she was smirking.

Leon gave her a look that was confused, then he snorted in amusement. "Nothing directly. But let's just say certain events are going to cause manpower in search and rescue to be cut down a bit. We need to try to keep the cities that haven't been infected clean, and for a while, that's going to mean more patrols in the city itself."

Claire gave him a narrowed look with her blue eyes, asking, "Why? Are they fearing someone might try to get an infection going? I mean, not that I'm arguing with the idea, I'm just curious about what the reason is. They're not just working on a hunch, are they?"

"Sadly, no, and don't ask. I can't say anymore."

Claire rolled her eyes slightly, but she smirked as she laid her head back on her husband's shoulder. "You and Uncle George with your classified information. I wonder if Aunt Tracy ever felt like pulling _his_ hair out."

"Please don't touch my hair unless you plan to stroke it lovingly," Leon implored, his voice full of playful amusement.

Claire started laughing. After a moment, she looked up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. "You know, it's getting close to 7:30. I need to go see if I can get in touch with my brother. Maybe I should spend a little while longer doing it every night if the search and rescue is going to be cut back for a while."

"I hate to say it, but you might be right. Whatever gives him a chance anyway. Not only do I want him to show up unharmed, but it'd be nice to have the extra help, especially someone so experienced."

Claire knew what Leon meant. The men were all capable, but sometimes they acted as if they didn't realize just how serious the situation was. While she thought about it, she heard her name, and the tone of Leon's voice suggested he needed to ask her something important. Claire continued resting her head against his shoulder though, asking him the word 'what' simply.

"Do you think this could be my fault?"

The question made her lift her head finally and narrow her brows at him. "What? No, of course not. Why would you ask that?"

He sighed, looking away from her face for a moment in thought. As he stared at his lap, on his thigh where her hand was settled with a ring on her finger, he shook his head and told her, "Nothing in particular. I don't blame myself. But sometimes I wonder if there might've been some kind of mistake in my past that could've led to all of this, something I didn't do quite right."

Claire was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in, and as she considered it, she told him, "Well, if that's so, then there might be something _I_ didn't do right, or Chris, or _anyone_. The important thing is that we don't let it continue."

"I know," he said, giving her a smile before he put a hand on her cheek. "Believe me, I know. I just...I guess I don't want you to think I'd ever jeopardize you, or anyone close to us."

Smiling, Claire nodded, then leaned in and pressed a simple, but slow and meaningful kiss to his lips. After she drew back, she said to him softly, "I know Leon, but if you keep talking like that, I'm going to drag you into the bedroom for a while, and we don't have the time right now."

Leon grinned, "I guess we'll have to take a raincheck then."

Snickering over the sentiment, Claire opened her mouth to say something in response, but she felt her phone vibrating against her hip where it was contained in her pocket, and she reached to her jeans in order to grab it with an, "Oh!"

Tugging the device out, she went to look at the ID, and then narrowed her brows. The phone stopped buzzing, and the ID simply said 'No Signal'. Claire felt a pang of disappointment hit her that Leon caught onto.

"What's wrong?," Leon asked.

With a sigh, Claire lowered the phone and looked over at him, shrugging a shoulder. "Nothing, I just...I don't know, when the phone rang just now, I just..._knew_ it was Chris. If it'd been my personal phone, where I blocked all the numbers but his, I would've known for sure." She let a little sigh out and shook her head, suggesting, "Maybe I'm just going crazy."

Leon smiled at her and shook his head. "I don't think so. If something has to define you being crazy, it would be marrying me, not hopefully thinking that call was your brother."

Claire snickered and smacked his arm playfully. Then she leaned in and kissed him properly. It was a kiss that lasted a while too, one becoming deeper over the course of just a few minutes. Leon couldn't help himself from turning her to lay back on the couch and climbing over her either. If he was late, then he'd be late. He needed a few minutes with his wife that was all his own.

Besides, a part of him was pleased. They'd managed to root out a suspect who could have more information than they currently did themselves. That was reason enough to feel just a little bit better about things.


	19. Reasons

_Chapter 18 - Reasons_

_ December 2nd, 2007_

_ Santa Rosa, New Mexico_

_ 8:27 PM_

_Dialing # 3 Claire Redfield...Connecting...Signal Lost._

Those were the words displayed on Chris's phone as he'd tried to put in a call, settled behind the steering wheel of the traveling hummer. They'd come to a stop on the side of a highway that offered absolutely no coverage, only dusty plains for as far as the eye could see, having crossed over the border and into New Mexico earlier in the day. This offered them a good view of the surrounding area though, which helped them to realize whether or not they were in danger sooner, but at the same time, it also made them easier targets—something Wesker had to worry about because of the tyrant chasing him down.

In order to avoid Albuquerque, they'd taken interstate 40 because a big city such as that wasn't good news, not that Albuquerque was in the way thankfully. Chris had been driving for around six to seven hours uneventfully at that point before it began growing dark and he stopped a little ways outside of Santa Rosa, New Mexico so that he and Wesker could switch places.

The most trouble they'd seen on the roadways so far were cars here and there settled in their way and completely blocking the path, or just making it hard to maneuver, but no pileups that cut them off completely. One of the pileups was at a spot in the road that, thankfully, had a good bit of flat land around it which the hummer could easily drive over, and judging from the tire tracks already there, some people already had.

There were only a few zombies here and there, passed along the roadway, zombies that didn't even begin to move until they saw the hummer flying by them. Aside from this, those hours went by blissfully uneventful, but everyone riding along on the trip wondered if maybe it was merely a calm before some kind of storm.

Much of the initial trip before they took their first rest stop about three hours earlier was made in silence. Oddly enough, Chris realized that he didn't want to drive anymore then. Instead, he wanted to stop and go to the RV so he could check on Regan and Shannon, make sure the child was alright, and give an explanation which he felt was owed. Neither of them knew about what was going on precisely just yet, and Chris hated to leave them in the dark for so long about Wesker and why he was there. Still, he wanted to put off any meetings between them for as long as possible anyway, so maybe it was for the best.

During that break, Cecilia was the last one to use the RV's bathroom, and Regan walked inside of the vehicle with her so she could show her where it was. Shannon was asleep on the bed, and Dutch didn't make much of a reaction to the stranger that Regan had let into the room as he laid near the little girl. He just lifted his ears and watched quietly.

Cecilia noticed the little girl asleep at that point in time, her red hair fanned out across the pillow with a peaceful expression on her face, and she stayed as quiet as possible so that she wouldn't wake her up.

Once she left the bathroom, she asked Regan on the way back outside, "What's your daughter's name?"

"Oh, that's Shannon."

A smile almost formed on Cecilia's face, and she nodded her head. "I'm glad she's managed to make it this far. It makes me hope Dallas isn't just a dream even more."

That told Regan that this woman wasn't exactly cruel as she'd been fearing just because of the fact that she was with the man Chris had warned her about. They were stepping back outside of the RV when Cecilia made the comment, and Chris was near the door smoking the rest of his cigarette.

He looked over at them when the two women stepped out, and asked, "Is everything ready to get going again?"

"It is," Regan nodded. "Shannon's asleep, so I'm going to go lay down with her again incase she wakes up from a bad dream or something."

Chris gave Regan a nod of his head and a look that said he knew he needed to give her an explanation before he went back to driving once more. For now, Regan just had to wait to see what might have played out earlier, and she returned to her daughter, then began going through their supplies to see what they might've needed.

At one point after they'd gotten back on the road, Chris actually thought Wesker might've fallen asleep in the passenger's seat because he didn't move for about an hour, but it was hard to tell. Perhaps he was just mending himself, preparing for driving that night after sustaining the injuries he had in Salida, but as long as he wasn't being, well, an intolerable asshole, Chris didn't care what he did.

It was during this time that Chris had tugged out his cell phone to check it as he habitually did. Cecilia had taken a nap in the backseat when she opened her eyes to see that Chris looked a little intrigued because he'd picked up a signal. She didn't interrupt him though, only listened as he put the phone to his ear, then promptly cussed when apparently the line had been dropped.

The hummer was still moving at that point in time, and Cecilia asked him who he was trying to call, to which he replied that he was hoping to get his sister. He expected Wesker to crack some comment afterward, but the man never said a single word.

Finally, the hummer stopped a ways outside of a town called Santa Rosa which they were heading toward, and Chris put it in park. When he did, Wesker commented, "Oh goodie, my turn."

Chris gave the man a look that said he was ready to feed him a fist, but instead of doing that, he just lifted his phone again to check it and asked him, "What, you're not bored, are you?"

"Perhaps. Idle hands are the devil's tools after all," Wesker quoted.

"You _are_ the fucking devil," Chris shot back before he saw that he had a signal again which got his mind completely off of any prattle going on with Wesker. Quickly, he dialed Claire's number again and put the call in, then lifted the phone to his ear. Surely enough, it started ringing this time as he said, "I've got a connection."

A moment passed while he heard it ringing, and it stopped right after he'd spoken.

Chris's brows narrowed as he pulled the phone back, muttering out, "Damn it, no signal again."

Wesker wasn't completely disinterested in hearing about anywhere that a signal might've been had, mentioning, "Perhaps there's a partially functioning station somewhere in the area that has working machines but no one to operate them, or is simply too far away to sustain it. This kind of flat land wouldn't block any signals being sent out anyway. It's likely just too weak."

That sounded like a possible case, Chris figured, working to gather his things up such as his weapons before he took the radio and put it on the dashboard, telling Wesker, "It's on channel 15. Radio back if you run into something. I'll be in the RV, giving us both a break."

"I can hardly complain with that," Wesker replied as he climbed out of the passenger's seat, and Chris did the same on the driver's side. He didn't bother shutting his door however, only headed toward the back of the hummer and around between the two vehicles since the entrance of the RV was on the opposite side of the driver. When he emerged, the backseat door of the hummer opened up and Cecilia got out of the car, which made him stop for a second and look over at her.

She was ready to climb up front apparently, and when she saw him stop, she looked over and asked, "What?," as she pushed her door shut again.

Chris let a soft sigh of breath, then waved a hand as he said in response, "Nothing. Just hesitant on how much I _really_ wanna leave you with Wesker, that's all."

"Well, I was with him before, so I think I'll be fine. Besides, you don't want him to drive your hummer by himself, do you?"

Chris snorted, shaking his head, "I don't want him within a million miles of me or anything I care about, but sadly he lives on this planet too. Just...," Chris trailed, then he decided that he didn't care if Wesker heard what he was about to say or not. Still, he did speak more quietly, telling her on a serious tone of voice, "Watch yourself around him. He says he took you along because you're skilled, but I don't completely buy that. There's another reason, whatever it might be, and he won't hesitate to use it against you, or anyone for that matter, if it gets him what he wants."

Cecilia could see he was sincere about it, and she gave the man a meaningful nod of her head, replying, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." She hoped he got the sense that she wasn't blowing him off, giving him a look that said as much before she turned around and got into the passenger's side of the hummer.

Chris let a little sigh of breath out as there was nothing he could really do, and then headed to the RV, opening the door and stepping up inside. As soon as he did, the smell of food hit his nose, and his stomach automatically rumbled in response. Someone had been cooking, but what he wasn't sure.

"Regan?," he asked, looking into the kitchen. When he did, he saw her standing over the stove, putting something together to eat, and Shannon suddenly popped her head around the corner with a bright smile on her face, which startled Chris at first, but he didn't react by flinching like a typical person might. Chris had been through too many scares to really react much to such a small surprise.

"Hey! Mama's making food. She figured you might be hungry too, and I'm starving."

Chris smiled at her, stepping further into the living area before settling his weapons down near the driver's seat as he responded with, "Yeah, I could use a bite to eat. I smell sauce."

"It's spaghetti actually," Regan told him, turning to face him with a curious look in her eyes. "You know you had a pantry in the corner over there that was stocked with meat sauce and noodles?"

"There's a pantry?," Chris asked, looking surprised. When he did, Regan tilted her head and gave him a quirked eyebrow that said she thought it was humorous that he didn't know. Chris couldn't help his indifferent shrug, though he did smirk over his own obliviousness of the storage space.

But he warned Regan, "I didn't put it there if there is."

"It's okay, the expiration's good on the cans, the boxes were unopened and sealed, and we don't have much else besides soda, bottled water, chips, and a few cans of vegetables. We have some of that stashed in the hummer too, but with more people now, it's not going to last."

Chris was stepping toward the kitchen now as Regan told him this when she let out a sigh and turned around to look at him. Her expression was considerate as she added, "I hate to say it, but we're going to have to hit a store soon. It might not be possible to make it to Dallas on what we have here."

"You think we'll be able to now that we have more people with us, mama?"

Regan looked from Chris and at Shannon when the question came, saying, "I'm sure we'll be able to manage something, Squirt."

Chris knew that was optimistic talk for her daughter's sake, but he only backed it up by giving the girl a nod of his head and a casual smile. "We'll figure something out."

Shannon started nodding her head in return as if she trusted them both completely, and then mentioned, "Maybe we can find some batteries if we're lucky."

"Batteries?," Chris asked her.

Yeah, double A for my PSP. I wouldn't mind playing some games again. It helps to pass the time.

Kids and their video games, Chris thought to himself and smirked at the little girl. Not that he wasn't a monster at the arcades when he was Shannon's age, but that was a very different time. Pushing the comparative thoughts out of his head, he looked at Regan and asked her, "Not that I'm impatient, but how much time on that food is there?" He couldn't help but ask, he hadn't had a completely decent meal in about two days.

They'd both felt the RV begin moving at that point, and it seemed a little strange considering Chris was in there with them instead of driving the hummer. Chris tried not to remind himself of the _reason_ the vehicle was moving, and focused on Regan's response instead.

Regan had narrowed her brows and looked through the front windshield, saying, "It won't be long, the noodles just need to boil, but," she trailed curiously, "who's driving the hummer?"

"It's a long story," Chris replied vaguely, his tone pointed because Shannon was in the room. Regan gave a nod of her head in understanding, but Shannon seemed to figure it out on her own.

"It's that man, isn't it?," the child asked them both.

Chris let a sigh out, realizing Shannon was more curious than he'd thought she might be, and he turned and walked over to the sectional couch where the little girl was holding a Batman comic book in her hands that Chris hadn't spied her with before then, but he knew from personal experience was an old one. He briefly wondered where Shannon might have gotten it, but decided that was a question for another time. Instead, he sat down on the section of the couch that jutted away from the wall, leaning his arms forward on his legs before he gave Shannon a nod of his head.

"Yeah. When did you see him?"

"Earlier at that gas station. Who is he?"

Chris shook his head and told Shannon honestly enough, "Someone I used to know a long time ago, but we're not exactly friends anymore."

"Then why is he coming with us? Are you just trying to help him like you helped us?"

Chris hated that question with more passion than he cared to admit. Still, he couldn't confuse Shannon too much with all the small nuances involved in the situation, and decided that the best way to put it was to say, "Not exactly. This _is_ helping him though, so maybe you could say that it's like that in a way. But the problem is that I don't trust him."

Shannon pursed her lips, watching him curiously before she asked, "Why not?"

Chris shook his head, wishing he had an ounce of his sister's patience and charm with children in that moment. "That's between me and him, Shannon. Let's just say I don't want you or your mom around him if you guys would do me the favor of staying away as much as you can."

"He must be mean then," Shannon pointed out. "I mean, if _you_ don't like him, then he has to be, right?"

"Yes," Chris told her completely truthfully. "So I just need you to promise me you won't talk to him, and stay close to your mom and me while he's around."

Despite the serious request, Shannon suddenly snickered and informed him, "Mom and _I_, Chris."

Standing by the counter, mixing the noodles with the sauce, Regan snorted in amusement. "Good job, Squirt," she chuckled softly.

Chris smiled, then gave Shannon a nod of his head. "Sorry, Mom and _I_. Anyway, do you think you can do that for me?"

"I do that anyway, so no big deal. Don't I, mama?" Shannon replied with a little smile on her face, showing off an innocence that Chris wished he could have back again.

"Yeah, she definitely knows how to give a cold shoulder, Chris. Trust me."

"Yep. I'm good at that," Shannon told him. "The silent treatment too. In fact, I won't even look at him. Would that work?"

Chris grinned, and though he was uncertain it would make much difference, he'd take everything he could get in this situation, giving the agreement, "Yeah, that'd work."

Shannon grinned with a nod and then went back to her comic book, waiting on dinner, which was done and served not too long afterward. While they ate, Chris explained some of what had happened that day, and told them what he knew of Cecilia as well. He made sure to keep it all general for Shannon's sakes, and Regan didn't seem to want to pry him for more information because she knew that's what he was doing.

When they were done, Regan put the plates up and stored the extra for later, most specifically for Cecilia in the hummer, wondering quietly why this woman had decided not to come to the RV, but maybe it was for the better this way. Somehow Regan wasn't sure she'd be comfortable thinking that Wesker was alone in the hummer.

That's when Regan went to sit down at the sectional again with a low groan of breath, and suddenly noticed that Shannon was putting her things together. She lifted her head and watched the girl grabbing her comic book and standing up.

Chris seemed to notice the movement too, listening as Shannon worked her way around the table and said, "Okay, it's getting late, I'm going to bed."

Regan's lips pursed. "It's only a little after eight, Shannon, and you napped this afternoon."

Shannon stopped and looked over at her, pursing her lips together hesitantly. Finally she asked her mother, "So?"

Regan blinked once while staring at her with a single raised brow. Then she sighed, "Okay, if you wanna go to bed, then I'll come and—," and she stopped speaking when Shannon raised a hand up to stop her.

"It's okay, Mama, you don't need to lay down with me. I got that radio back there, I'm fine."

Regan couldn't help her chuckle over the little girl's sudden determination, settling back on the couch again before asking, "You sure about that?"

"I'm eight mom, I got this," Shannon replied with a comical kind of insistence that she herself was oblivious too but Regan and Chris smirked over, and then she started walking off, adding, "Night, Chris!"

"Good night," Chris replied, then looked over at Regan curiously. Once Shannon was in the bedroom, he asked, "What was that about?"

"Beats me," Regan told him honestly with a shrug of her shoulders. "Maybe she just wants to try for a little independence though. She was talking about it earlier anyway, saying she wanted to try relying on herself more because she didn't want me to get myself killed trying to help her."

Despite the fact that the words made Regan feel uneasy, somehow she got the feeling it wasn't quite as simple as all of that and she wasn't sure why precisely. Briefly she wondered if maybe Shannon had sensed that she wanted to talk with Chris, but if that had been the case, Shannon would've probably tried to stick around so she could listen. Then again, who knew, maybe she was listening right then.

Uncertainly, Regan waited a moment and then got up to head around to peak in on her daughter, but Shannon was on the bed with her PSP, using what she had left in the batteries with a pair of earplugs in her ears to play a video game she had. Regan shook her head at the sight and then turned around to go back and sit down at the sectional again.

"She's playing her PSP now. I don't know," she shrugged. "Well, it gives us a chance to talk anyway."

"True," Chris admitted, knowing he still needed to give that explanation she'd been missing so far.

"Alright, so," Regan began, "I'm not trying to judge you, but just yesterday you were saying how dangerous this Albert Wesker guy is, and now you're letting him tag along. Why?"

Chris nodded at her because he realized exactly how it looked, saying so. "I know, it's bad. I won't lie about it. But I had no real choice in the matter."

"What do you mean?," Regan asked, trying to understand.

She watched Chris's face turn a little grim, as if he either didn't want to answer her, or he wasn't looking forward to it. After a moment though, he began saying, "I told you about my partner, Jill, didn't I?" When Regan nodded at him, he went on, "I lost her a year ago chasing Wesker down. He got the upper hand in a fight and was about to kill me, but she threw herself into him to stop him, knocking him out of a window. She fell with him in the process, sacrificing herself to save me by diving into a ravine where the bottom was hundreds of feet down."

"Oh my god," Regan drew out, seeing now why he didn't look forward to telling her anything. If he cared about his partner, which Regan got the feeling he did, then something like that would've hurt to talk about.

Chris didn't reply, only sighed and looked down at his arms draped over his legs. "The thing is, they never found a body, not for her _or_ Wesker. They combed that ravine for months but nothing ever showed up." Regan watched him look up and across the room thoughtfully before he added, "A part of me came to accept that she was probably dead, that wolves or other animals might've gotten hold of whatever was left, but another part of me, well, it's never been fully convinced. They comb that ravine for months and _nothing_ shows up? I always questioned _why_ and..."

Chris trailed, then looked over at Regan and informed her, "I just found out why today."

Regan watched him for a moment, taking in his weathered and currently scruffy appearance, then she looked over toward the front of the RV where she could just see the hummer traveling ahead of them. After considering it, she said more than asked, "Wesker knew, and she's alive."

"Yeah," Chris spoke as if he wished it weren't so for various reasons. "When things were getting tense at that gas station in Salida, he told me that in return for letting him tag along, he'd give me her location and tell me exactly what happened to her. I didn't have the time to think it through then with the zombies on our asses and a tyrant bringing up the rear, so I accepted and now here he is."

Regan didn't know what a tyrant was that Chris had mentioned, but she didn't ask at that moment. Instead, she was going to comment that it sounded like Wesker had used the situation to his advantage as well. But Chris stopped her when he looked over at her because his expression was so serious. She couldn't help but give him her undivided attention instead of saying anything when he did so, something intense in his eyes that she couldn't ignore.

"I swear to you Regan, I will _not_ let him hurt either of you, _especially_ Shannon. I know I fucked up when I let him come along. I probably should've just grabbed the woman with him and run, tracked Jill down myself whenever I got to Dallas, but like I said, the situation was bad, so I accepted. Still, there was more than Jill's location riding on bringing him along, if it makes any difference where Shannon's concerned," he said as if he didn't think it did.

"Like what?," Regan asked curiously.

"Well, apparently Wesker managed to get some kind of answer about the origins of this outbreak, and who's behind firing the missiles. It's something I'll have to tell you about later though." Chris let a low groan and shoved his fingers through his hair, making the somewhat longer strands ruffle messily, and Regan noticed he could probably use a trim aside from a shave, but she didn't comment.

Instead, she listened as he told her, "I might not have a job when we get to Dallas. The BSAA could be gone for all I know. But if it's not, then I'll need whatever I can find. It's just what I have to do. It could also be a chance to have Wesker apprehended. I just don't know yet. For now, I'm more worried about us all reaching Dallas safely, and then going from there."

"Okay," Regan started, thinking about it all for a moment. She had to make some kind of comment after all because not only was she in this with him, but she also knew he expected her to.

Chris watched her thinking it over, wondering what she might say while expecting the worse. Instead, she finally told him, "I agree. We get to Dallas first, and worry about anything else later. I can't say I'm thrilled about this guy being so close to my daughter, but," she shook her head, "I can't blame you for that, so don't blame yourself, Chris. It sounds like he used the situation to his advantage as well to me, and I also can't blame you for wanting to know more about what happened to someone important, especially a partner, and what the hell might really be going on in the world at large too. But like you said, that comes later, when we see if Dallas is actually still there or not."

Chris stayed quiet, but after a moment, he did look at Regan in consideration. He was glad she didn't seem too angry, and he could deal with the fact that she was irritated. He was too. Finally, he said, "Thanks, I'll try to keep telling myself it's that simple, but—," he stopped when Regan lifted a hand to stop him and shook her head.

"Deal with it when and _if_ it comes, Chris. For now, what's the plan between you two? If you hate each other's guts, this is going to have to be done carefully."

"That's an understatement," Chris muttered, finally sitting back on the couch with a lowly made sigh of breath. "First of all, I can't let Wesker know you two mean absolutely anything to me. He'd already use you against me just because you're human first, but if he finds out I care for you anymore than that, he'd do something even more vile."

Regan got quiet for a moment, and though she knew he was being serious, she couldn't help biting her lips as if slightly amused before finally saying, "You mean Shannon."

"I mean either of...," Chris started, then realized the implication of his words and how they might've been translated. With a groan of breath, he explained as Regan snickered softly over his realization, "I mean any kind of friendship between us, especially any fondness of Shannon. I have to seem like I don't know you two at all."

Suddenly Regan snorted, trying to hold back her smile. "Oh no, I got that, don't worry," she smirked. He'd charmingly gotten a little flustered, and Regan wondered just how long it might've been since he'd either been with or even tried to flirt with a woman. Pushing the curiosity away for the moment though, she told him, "We'll just have to act like strangers in a mutual situation then, which shouldn't be hard considering we _are_ for more or less. It's Shannon you'll have to worry about. She's fond of you, and it's probably going to show."

Chris nodded, and there was the trouble. "I hate to say it, but I should probably be colder around her whenever Wesker's watching. It could help to save her life if something happens."

"I'll have a talk with her," Regan promised him. "I know how to explain it so she can understand why you're not so friendly without making her worry, and believe me, she will. You've already told her you don't trust him, so she'll know why."

Regan watched him go into quiet thought after that, wondering what might've been running through his head. She hated to admit it, but she'd become fond of Chris like Shannon had too, though she didn't see a father figure in him precisely like she knew that Shannon did. Still, those were notions Regan didn't even want to entertain just then, not with the situation they were in. Sure, he was a good and decent man, apparently he was single and, if you were being superficial about it, he was very nice to look at which Regan reluctantly admitted to herself that she'd noticed before now. Even needing a haircut and a shave, she thought he was pleasant to behold so to speak. But with the way things were in the world, searching for a relationship was the last thing on either of their minds.

She knew _why_ she was growing so fond of him though, and it was because of Shannon. Regan had a soft spot for guys who put her daughter first, which was why her last two relationships hadn't worked out well. Neither one of those men had been completely interested in Shannon, and the second actually suggested that Regan spent _too_ much time with her daughter. To Regan, that was simply unacceptable. She told him goodbye before he could even finish the sentence.

Suddenly, Regan wondered if Shannon had left for that very reason. Could it have been possible that the eight year old wanted them to talk alone? Shannon had seen the movie "The Parent Trap" after all, and while it was a comical notion to Regan, she couldn't help but consider that might've been the reason for the little girl's early bedtime hour, to get the two talking or whatever. Not that Regan thought Shannon would have really done that, but she did question it.

Chris then interrupted her thoughts though, answering her earlier question about what he might've been thinking of by saying, "I've never been around kids much. I thought about what it might be like to have my own once or twice, you know, but I never did. Guess I just never found the time to. Then again, I also thought it might've been a bad idea with the life I've led." He sighed softly, then turned his brown eyes over to her and asked, "How do you take it? I mean, how do you react when one gets attached to you like you said Shannon has to me?"

Regan smiled at him meaningfully as if she knew exactly how he felt, saying in response as easily as if she'd done so herself, "Well, you love them right back because you can't help it. The first time I ever saw her, I wondered how in the world I could feel the way I did so deeply already, and it was because I knew that she _needed_ me. I couldn't help it, and fell right in love with her."

She got silent and the smile faded from her face as she thoughtfully added the words, "But I couldn't keep her. So you fight, that's how you react." Turning her gaze back to Chris, she nodded, telling him in earnest, "You fight like hell to keep it, because there's nothing in the world that can match it once you have it."

The answer made a great deal of sense to him, and it only made that much more sense in a world that had been shot to hell as badly as theirs had. Chris wasn't beyond fighting like hell. Shannon was also as good of a reason to do so as any. But the talk did raise another question in his mind, and though it was a little off topic from the reason they'd sat down to talk, he put it to her anyway.

"How did you deal with losing her, Regan?"

Regan snorted, looking down at her lap while sweeping a bit of red hair back over her shoulder as she told him, "I decided to become a drunk."

Chris couldn't tell if she were joking at first, but when she looked up at him, he could see she was being honest. She explained without prompting, "Not at first though, I was around her a good bit. Clyde and Linda lived close, and I got to be with her often. My parents didn't like it, but they wanted to stay in Clyde and Linda's good graces, so they allowed it. I didn't _really_ lose her until she was six months old. That's when her foster parents had to move to Edgemont.

"Clyde was a musician who performed in a nightclub, played all kinds of instruments in a jazz band, which is why Shannon loves music so much. Linda was their singer and the Nightclub owner. Business went bad where we lived though, and they were forced to find a new venue elsewhere or lose their livelihood."

Chris listened intently to the story, and after Regan said her last line, she leaned forward on her arms and sighed out a long, deep breath. "I got to talk to them on the phone, they sent pictures constantly, but arrangements were only made for me to travel there once every semester for a few days because I was still in school. I...was devastated," Regan informed him plainly, "got extremely depressed, and started raiding my father's liquor cabinet and drinking in secret. Didn't take long for my parents to find out though, and since they thought I was becoming an alcoholic, they moved up the date for me to go to Japan sooner."

"Japan?," Chris asked, a little confused.

"Yeah, it was a temporary exchange program my father had arranged with a friend he had living there that was for a community development project. I was supposed to go there for six months while their kid came here, and I did because this program pretty much guaranteed an A plus for two semesters, and graduating was one of the terms of agreement for getting Shannon in my own custody as soon as possible."

Regan scoffed after she said that like she should've known better, lifting a pack of smokes from her vest pocket and pulling one out to light it as if the subject matter was grating on her nerves perhaps. When she saw that there was one left, she offered it to Chris, and he held up a hand and then caught it when she tossed it over, followed by lighting up.

Regan took a drag and cracked open the little window behind the sectional so she could blow the smoke out, and Chris moved to situate himself a bit closer to it as well, settling about three feet across from her.

Regan tossed the newly emptied pack out the window as well and also used it to flick her ashes outside. Chris did the same when she told him the next part of the story. "Japan wasn't too bad honestly, and I managed to cope with the pain there. The family I stayed with was good to me and reminded me that one day I'd be able to have Shannon again and helped me as much as they could. But when I got back to the states, it was like all of my problems were right there waiting on me, only, they'd gotten worse."

After another drag, she settled with her arms across her thighs and told Chris, "I went to go see Shannon first thing when I came back, and she'd grown up so much by then that I barely recognized her anymore. That got me right back in the bottle even faster than I'd picked it up in the first place."

Chris listened to all of this, watching as Regan seemed to go through it all in her head. Eventually, she shook it and smirked before looking at him while saying, "Clyde kept trying to get my ass back into shape, tried to remind me that when I was 18, I could adopt Shannon back, but they'd never allow me to if I was drunk off my ass. I wanted to though, you know? Wanted to quit drinking, knew I _had_ to, but it was missing out on her first years that hurt the most. Not being there for everything, not seeing when she took her first steps, or first used the potty on her own, or said her first words."

Suddenly, she had to stop herself because her eyes began to tear up. Her hand flew to her cheek, and she wiped the moisture away with her fingers before it could fall, then cleared her throat. "Uh...sorry, it just...takes a lot to talk about it. But...well, when I turned eighteen, I didn't feel worthy of Shannon, not with the way I was drinking like I had been. It got me even deeper in the bottle, and before long, I realized I'd become a lost cause. That's why I joined the reserve, so they'd kick my ass back into shape before I ruined myself for the both of us. When I was twenty one, I'd been sober for a year and a half and finally managed to adopt Shannon at six years old. Now my only regret is that she had to wait so long for me to stop being a dumbass," Regan snorted after she said that.

It all made sense now. Chris remembered her saying she only joined the reserve to get some discipline out of it, and now he knew why. He couldn't say he blamed her either. _You fight like hell for it_, he thought, and those words made more sense than ever. She'd fought like hell to keep Shannon, both back then, and she was doing it now, fighting to keep her daughter alive to try to make her future the best it could be, even in this sorry ass world.

If Regan ever lost Shannon, Chris got the feeling she wouldn't be able to go on. That only made him feel even worse for accepting Wesker's proposition, but at the same time, it also made him want to fight that much more. Maybe the world couldn't be saved, he'd considered, maybe it was beyond that point now, and even if they made it to Dallas, there might not be much that could be done outside of trying to keep the place contained so it was safe for everyone there.

Before, all he really had was the remote hope of seeing his sister again. Jill might not have died, but with the way things had turned out, he'd figured she'd be dead now anyway, and everything else had been what felt like a wasted life. Chris really had no promise of anything personal waiting for him to get back to, or something he could have for himself whenever he got to Dallas. He'd gone on for Claire, to try to find her in the hopes she'd made it there or _somewhere_ safe, but if he found out that she wasn't, or if he came to realize that there was nowhere left that was safe at all, he wouldn't have anything anymore.

Regan said there was nothing in the world that could match the love of a child, and Chris felt humbled that Shannon had taken to him so well. He wasn't all that great with kids, but she'd gotten under his skin, and he didn't regret it happening. It was like a reminder of the reason he'd set out everyday to begin with, wasted time or not. Shannon wasn't his daughter, or related to him, but she was worth putting up a fight for if that came to pass or didn't. It wasn't because Chris longed to have a kid—hell, he hadn't even thought about it too much because of the life he lived. But it was the promise of it that counted, something that was here and now, a real reason instead of an intangible hope that just maybe he'd have a sliver of luck and see someone or something that mattered to him again.

With the thought in mind, he looked over at Regan and told her honestly, "I'm glad I found the two of you. I know it might not sound like much, hell, probably sounds corny, but...you make me feel like I haven't completely wasted my time."

"Wasted your time?," Regan asked curiously.

"I mean with the way the world is. I was a member of the BSAA, supposed to _prevent_ this kind of thing from happening, but it happened anyway."

"Oh, I get it," Regan nodded when he said it like that. "I can see why you'd feel that way." With a sigh of breath, she smiled and told him, "Well, I'm glad I was stupid enough to get us stranded for you to find us then," with a soft chuckle.

Chris smirked, shaking his head. "Don't say that. I know you're joking but...you weren't stupid. You carried on for her anyway you knew how, and that's something I can admire."

Regan got quiet after he said that, and he wondered for a moment if he might've gone too far with that line when the silence came up between them. But an interruption came in over the radio, an unpleasant interruption for Chris because of the voice that had sounded.

"_Chris, do you copy?_" The words were spoken blandly.

Groaning, Chris plucked his radio from where it was still resting on his belt while Regan watched as he said into the device, "Loud and clear, over."

It took Wesker a moment, but he finally came back in to say, "_I'm seeing lights in the distance, located in the middle of the town we're approaching, over._"

Regan's brows narrows. Lights? Were power stations even still working? Maybe some were, she supposed, and listened to the conversation going on now. But Chris gave her a confused looked over the same thought in return, then finally asked over the radio, "What do you mean by lights? You sure it's not a fire in the distance? Over."

"_I'm sure. Miss Chase can see them, but not quite as well. They're dots as if lining a road, probably a location in Santa Rosa. It may or may not be a wise choice to stop there. Over._"

Chris thought about it for a moment, and Wesker never said anything more as if he knew that's what Chris was doing. Maybe he was even considering it himself. Regan spoke up during that silence, saying, "It might just be a fluke. You know, power still working, but full of nothing but the dead. The station in Santa Rosa might just still be intact."

Chris nodded because most of the places they'd come across so far didn't have much, if any working electricity, then got back on the radio, saying, "We can't judge a book by it's cover, Wesker. It could be crawling with zombies, over."

"_How surprising to hear you turning down the opportunity to offer a helping hand, Chris._"

Regan watched Chris rolling his eyes while Wesker continued speaking.

"_Nevertheless, my companion here mentioned there was not much in food supplies, and if there is still power here, there may be a chance to place that call you were trying to place earlier. Over._"

The word 'over' had been spoken somewhat sarcastically, and Regan could tell it really got under Chris's skin because he didn't look happy at all. So she piped up and said, "That _could_ be true, too. It _might_ be worth a look, _maybe_. But it's still dark, and who knows what the hell could be waiting out there."

Chris agreed with that, and he was about to tell Wesker it was a damned bad idea when he felt the RV suddenly coming to a stop anyway. Chris and Regan exchanged a glance, and Chris asked over the radio, "Why are we stopping, Wesker? Over."

"_Because t__h__ere is a very large roadblock in our path._"

Outside, the night was quiet and the stars were easily seen over the New Mexico skyline. The door on the side of the halted RV opened up and Chris climbed out and onto the roadway where there were several other cars parked but no one around. Turning, he began to head up to the front of the hummer where Wesker was standing about ten feet in front of it looking off into the near distance along with Cecilia, and not too far behind Chris, Regan emerged from the RV as well.

Chris's facial expression went from one of confusion to that of both surprise and uncertain despair. He slowly stopped walking when he was standing parallel to, but about seven feet away from Wesker and Cecilia, and Regan, who'd walked in not too far behind him, exclaimed the first thing Cecilia had said when she'd seen the sight not five minutes earlier.

"What the hell?"

Nearly twenty feet ahead of them, laying in the roadway, was a good bit of debris, some of it metal, some of it chunks of cement from the highway. About thirty yards further than that was a crashed jet that had the old, worn words along the tail of "U.S.A. Airlines", a commercial aircraft that had gone down and crashed right into a bridge crossing over a river. The bridge had been smashed under, or perhaps against the nose of the jet when it had come in, and left the roadway completely impassable.

Despite the wreckage, everything was quiet, and likely, the jet had been there for several weeks now. Whether there was anyone on board or not—anyone undead that was—was a mystery, but there easily could have been, and likely could be zombies or even worse things lurking around the highway now.

But they were all silent, at least for a few moments of letting the sight before them all sink in. Chris looked beyond the wreckage and into the distance, seeing a few very dim lights, some of which looked to be flickering off at random. They were the same ones that Wesker had spoken of, barely visible in the darkness beyond their position.

While he considered those lights, Wesker, who was the first of anyone to start moving and formulate a plan, held up the GPS he'd detached from the hummer's dashboard before he'd left the car in his hand, searching over it before he pointed out while getting the information it provided, "We'll have to backtrack to the exit ramp. There's a highway that goes through Santa Rosa and reconnects with this one on the other side of town."

Chris looked over at Wesker and narrowed his brows, unsure he liked the sound of that. "Through the town? What about around it instead?"

Wesker turned his amber eyes toward Chris, not wearing his shades due to the darkness and the need for better vision in their situation at that moment, and replied, "According to the map, the only alternate path would take us south, all the way to Roswell and Southwestern Texas. So unless you're planning on finding aliens to get us somewhere entirely new, we're going to _have_ to travel on 54 through Santa Rosa."

Chris didn't like it, but neither did the others. Shaking his head, he looked back at the wreckage and said, "Alright, we're going through Santa Rosa after all then. Let's just hope the lights we see aren't a bad omen."

"Like a freight train coming our way, you mean," Cecilia muttered out.

"No Leaf Clover," Regan chimed in, pointing out the song the words came from which was all about bad luck, then let out a sigh. "That used to be my favorite Metallica song. Right now I think I like Whiskey in the Jar better though."

They'd started to turn to walk back to the cars as she spoke, and on the way, Cecilia mentioned, "I could certainly use a stiff drink right about now myself."

Chris had to concur, or better yet, wished he was in a place where he could have a stiff drink without worrying about keeping his better judgment.

Once they'd reached the vehicles however, Wesker said to Cecilia, "It would be better if you returned to the RV and let Chris ride in the hummer until we're through the town."

Chris had been ready to get in the hummer once he'd grabbed his weapons from the RV due to the fact that they would be traveling through hostile territory alone, but he hadn't expected Wesker to say what he just did, listening to the ensuing conversation as Cecilia gave Wesker a confused look.

"Why is that?"

"Simple," Wesker started, "the lights may mean survivors, and survivors may mean scavengers ready to do whatever they can to get a handout. If we _are_ stopped, you'll have the element of surprise in that situation. I might say Chris would do well with that element, but I know his marksmanship, and while yours isn't bad, it doesn't match up to his. So he would do better up front."

Why Chris suddenly felt as if he were back on the S.T.A.R.S. Team again, he'd like to say he was uncertain, but he _did_ say, "Damn it Wesker, stop with the captain horseshit. It's annoying."

Wesker didn't respond, only waited for Cecilia to make a comment. Wordlessly, she let out a little sigh of breath and turned around, deciding not to argue about it. Instead, she pointed out to Wesker as she grabbed whats he needed from the hummer, "As long as you two don't kill one another and leave us stranded in a town potentially full of zombies, sure, that'll be fine. So try to get along, will you?"

Wesker went to go climb into the hummer and behind the wheel while Chris just grumbled under his breath over what she'd mentioned. Not that he thought he and Wesker were going to have much trouble getting along in working out this situation, but he still didn't get a good feeling about it.

Settling himself in the hummer once everyone had their things in place while Wesker backed the vehicles up down the road to make it back to the exit, Chris mentioned it aloud.

"I don't like this."

"Nor do I. If we have anything in common at all, it's that our instincts are usually right. So let's be prepared."

Chris rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh of breath over the implication of the words—this was going to be a shitty ride essentially, only made even worse because of the company he had with him. The only thing that kept him from making a comment about it though was that he knew Wesker didn't like having to work with him anymore than he did. So he just let it go.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

"What?," Chris asked when Wesker suddenly said just when he'd stopped and put the hummer into drive.

Looking over at Chris, his amber eyes slightly glowing in the darkness, Wesker explained plainly, "Just something I keep trying to remind myself about you in this situation."

Chris narrowed his brows in response, just as much hate for the man showing up in his lightening eyes as the words Wesker had expressed told of in turn. It would be hard for someone to miss for that one moment just how much they hated each other, but were unsure whether they hated the situation even more or not.

Sighing out a breath through his nose, Chris looked at the road and simply said in response, "Just drive already. The sooner this is over with the better."

Sadly, he didn't think it was going to be that easy.


	20. Choices

_Chapter 19 - Choices_

_ December 2nd, 2007_

_ Outside of Santa Rosa, New Mexico_

_ 8:27 PM_

"I consider myself a good judge of character, at least in principle, but something about you confounds me, Miss Chase."

It had been silent for a while until Wesker had suddenly spoken that line. Cecilia had been going over everything that had happened in her head as they were traveling down the highway toward Santa Rosa, and suddenly Wesker had brought their silence to an end.

Cecilia lifted her head and looked over at him. Wesker kept his eyes on the road as she watched, then told her in addition, "You seem to generally dislike me or, in the very least, you don't have a great opinion and harbor some mild indifference. Yet you chose to stay in the hummer when you could have easily gone with Chris."

Cecilia turned a pair of green eyes over at him and lifted a brow, saying, "I don't know if confounding you should be taken as a compliment or not, but I get the feeling you're not confounded often."

"You'd be right. It's not easily accomplished. So tell me why you chose the hummer instead of the RV."

Cecilia sighed, looking ahead again. "Didn't you pick up on the fact that I'm antisocial?"

"That's not a full explanation, not one that makes sense anyway," Wesker informed her, saying he'd gathered as much about her character, but it didn't explain her choices just then. "You know, according to Chris, as well as my own actions, of what I could potentially be capable of. Antisocial or not, it stands to reason you wouldn't want to be in my presence if given the option."

"Why should your capability sway my choices? You haven't killed me, _yet_, and even if you _are_ an evil son of a bitch who stabbed his own mother in the back, you're not bad company. You're a little boring, but but at least when you do talk, it's intelligent."

"Now I'm the one who's uncertain whether I should feel complimented or not. Boring, am I?" The comment was unimportant but made with a bit of amusement, proving Wesker wasn't humorless.

Cecilia shrugged as if telling him he was boring didn't bother her one bit. "You're quiet and...robotic. At least, that's the pace you keep up. I know the reason for it though, and I'm not complaining about it." Then she let a soft sigh out and expounded on her choice to stay in the hummer by saying, "I just don't know if I'd really fit in back there with the others, and with you, well, it's easier for me to handle."

"Not the family type I take it. Or perhaps children bother you then." Wesker suggested, aware of the fact that there was a little girl in the RV due to the stop they'd made earlier. He still hadn't seen Shannon, but he'd overheard a bit of conversation involving her.

"I didn't say that," Cecilia countered. "I don't know them, and they're not my family. Otherwise family suits me fine, and so do children."

Wesker didn't reply, but he did seem to take the words in. Turning the steering wheel a bit in order to take a curve in the road, he supposed she just wanted to stay where it was quiet until she knew more about what to expect from their new companions, even if she didn't like him in particular.

He had another curiosity in mind as well however, and he put it to her. "What's your impression of Chris in particular then."

"Why do you ask? I'm sure you don't need some kind of confirmation of your own feelings about him."

"Not one bit," Wesker told her completely confidently. "I'm merely curious if he's convinced you of something you hadn't yet thought of."

"Like what? The fact that you're an asshole? Nah, I noticed that on my own," Cecilia shrugged, her tone fairly plain about it despite the humor behind her words. "Besides that," she continued, "he seems like your polar opposite. Honest, up front, and morally aware of his actions."

Wesker smirked. "Well, at least you're blunt with your own opinions."

Cecilia typically tried to be if only because getting the truth out up front tended to make situations less complicated. "Why all the questions so suddenly though?," Cecilia asked after she'd had the thought about being blunt, looking back over at him with curiosity in her eyes. "You don't seem like someone who does anything without a reason, which includes questioning me now."

"Curiosity, like I said."

Cecilia watched him quietly after he'd spoken those simple words in consideration. She remembered Chris saying he didn't buy it that Wesker had only brought her along because she was skilled and would be useful, but she had no idea what else there could have even remotely been that would give him a good reason to take her with him when he'd found her. She decided Chris's hate of the man could be coloring his perceptions, but still, she decided to ask Wesker about it to see what he would say.

"You know, he doesn't seem to buy your story that you just let me tag along with you because you thought I'd be helpful."

"Of course he doesn't," Wesker response without having to think about it. "He thinks I'll throw you to the zombies to save my own skin the first chance I get. The honest truth of the matter is that you are a commodity for me, Miss Chase, but not one to throw away in such a fashion. There are those who serve as distractions, bait if you will, and then there are skilled individuals you don't simply dispense with in order to save yourself. Some people are worth saving for their skills, and you have proven to be one of them."

Cecilia quirked a brow up at the man. "Really?" She asked the question suspiciously, then added, "Or are you just trying to butter me up?"

"I'm fresh out of butter as it were, Miss Chase," he told her sarcastically and then let a soft sigh that said he might've been growing tired of repeating himself with the situation in a sense. "Besides, what would I _butter you up_ for? So that when we get to Dallas, I might," he paused as he cooked up some crazy idea in his head, "be able to get close enough to hold you at gunpoint and demand they let me pass with a pardon, otherwise I'll kill you?"

After suggesting the fairly ridiculous scenario, Wesker snorted. "I'm afraid, my dear, that I'm probably so high up on the most wanted list that they'd opt to kill you if it meant _my_ demise as well. I'm certain that for all his moral awareness, even Chris would at least consider doing such a thing if it came to that situation anyway."

Cecilia sighed, then looked down at her lap. "I have no idea what you'd be trying to do honestly. God knows that in Dallas I wouldn't be of much use to you, saying we make it there. I figured we'd part our ways then and never see one another again. Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "There's a particular plan I have to follow. I knew bringing you along wouldn't compromise me and instead, only give me the added benefit of an extra pair of eyes to help watch for, and even prevent trouble. Yes, I did risk your life to find out if my theory was correct before, but it was an incredibly small risk for knowing _that_ particular outcome. Don't you at least feel somewhat more secure now in realizing you harbor a natural immunity? So that if you're bitten, you won't have to ask someone to shoot you needlessly and might actually be able to live?"

Cecilia hesitated briefly over the way he'd put his words, asking the question, "What do you mean it was an incredibly small risk? And yes, I do feel more secure in knowing about it, but I don't like how you tested the theory."

"And what would you have suggested then? That I ask if you'd like to allow yourself to be attacked and infected? You wouldn't have agreed to it." After commenting on it, he then answered her question on a plain tone of voice. "I knew the actual risk to your life was low because you'd already been bitten."

Cecilia looked over at him as if that didn't explain for her what she wanted it to, so Wesker expounded on the comment, telling her, "Don't forget I was a researcher who helped to engineer this virus, Miss Chase. The likelihood that the virus simply hadn't transferred when you'd initially been attacked before we met was next to zero. If you want statistics, then try about a zero point ninety seven percent chance that a victim won't be infected through biting and scratching. It's miniscule when, in comparison, an estimated ten percent of the world's population bears a natural immunity, as we never achieved a strain that was one hundred percent infectious. With the world's population before being around sixty five billion people, that accounts for six billion, five hundred million people who harbor a natural immunity."

He let those odds sink in for a moment before he glanced over at her and then asked, "Which of those odds do _you_ think sound more likely?"

"If the chances were so great, then why test it at all?," Cecilia asked him.

"Because I don't work on assumptions or theories like I said, no matter what the probability. There was a way to prove it, and I took the chance." Once he'd given her those scientific facts and the personal choice testing his theory, he added without qualms, "Whether that makes it easier for you to handle the way I tested it however is inconsequential to me. What matters is that the theory was proven, and we can work easier with the knowledge it brought us."

Cecilia watched him for a moment, too many things going through her head to really get a good idea of anything she wanted to say. Still, she did have one thought which she decided to interject with. "But, if I'm bitten in the future in a place that disables me from being much use to you, what then? Would you carry me back to the car in order to save me? Wouldn't it be simpler to leave me behind because I would become a liability? You don't care how I feel, only what you can get out of me, so shouldn't I be worried in a situation like that?"

"That's an interesting scenario, Miss Chase, and one I'd previously given thought to. It would, of course, depend on the severity of the disabling. I may well carry you out of harm's way if there was the promise of a more functional set of hands to be provided later that wouldn't compromise me. In your particular case, considering you have this natural resistance, I might be more inclined to do just that even if the disabling were more severe." He glanced back in her direction, his amber eyes focusing on her as he reminded her, "As I said before, _some_ are worth saving."

Cecilia was quiet, watching him. He looked back at the road, and she let out a soft sigh, finally looking out of the window herself after a moment. Wesker let her, then told her after a moment, "The situational values have changed as well now. I could simply use Chris and then be done with it, but you're giving a good bit of added help. It's true that I'm only interested in the gain I can get from people, and if they're in my way, I dispense with them. You are neither in my way, nor are you useless however."

"So then," Cecilia started, still staring out of the window, "typically you don't find killing someone to be satisfying then? Do it out of sheer will."

"No. It's only necessity, though there are exceptions to every rule," he pointed out, thinking of Chris in specific. He got the feeling she knew that's what he was talking about however, so he didn't say anything of it. Instead, he only suggested, "But in being a police officer, I'm sure you can understand the meaning of killing by necessity."

Cecilia finally looked back at the man. Lifting a brow, she said, "There's a big difference between killing someone out of self defense and killing them because they're in your way."

"There's only a fine line of difference between the two when you take the time out to really consider the possibilities. But again, it's likely you've never been in a situation where you've had to kill someone out of necessity. I'd take it your job in Olathe was actually fairly boring considering the size of the town."

Cecilia looked down quietly in thought, telling him, "I don't know about that, every town has it's share of troublemakers. They might've been easier to deal with in a small town, but that didn't mean I was never forced to shoot." She looked up and added, "I was suspended from the force for disobeying an order as well. So it wasn't all boring."

Wesker glanced in Cecilia's direction briefly, but didn't speak. He decided to wait and see if she would say more, and after a moment, she did just that. "There was a bank robbery, and my sister was in the bank, one of the hostages. There were maybe ten of them in all and three suspects. We were ordered to hold back until backup could arrive, but I didn't listen. I was what my chief called a vigilante and went in solo without permission as soon as I heard about what was going on on the radio. Hell, I wasn't even on duty when it happened. But," she shrugged, "I took out the gunmen without a single hostage getting killed."

"Yet you put them at risk, therefore they suspended you," Wesker suggested as a possible outcome.

"That's the thing, I didn't even put them at risk," Cecilia replied, looking over at him with a confident expression on her face. "I knew one of the robbers. Small town like Olathe gives you an advantage of knowing almost everyone. He was a guy fighting to keep a place to live, desperate for money. When I realized who was robbing the bank, I sent him a text on my cellphone saying that I would arrange for him to be escorted from the bank if he would get his men ready at the back door. He knew my sister was in there and that I'd do anything to save her, and he believed me. When he got to the back door though, and found there was no car waiting for him, well, that's when it all happened. He tried to shoot and so I shot back. I didn't kill them though."

After saying that, she looked ahead at the currently empty roadway, devoid of cars, and finished her tale by saying, "I was under investigation of whether or not I was actually aiding a criminal when the outbreaks started."

"Clever," Wesker said simply. "You used the man's desperation against him, and it's only a story that makes me even more confident in my decision to bring you along. Had I been your captain, I probably would have commended you for quick thinking."

"Well, the chief didn't like it, so that's what mattered."

"Indeed. But," Wesker began, changing the subject, "I thought we were refraining from telling our life stories in order to avoid emotional bonding."

Cecilia snorted because of how he'd said that, which was very sarcastic. Looking over, she asked, "Do you even think you're _capable_ of emotional bonding?"

"I'm uncertain, actually. Perhaps it's a theory I'll have to test sometime."

Cecilia lifted a brow over the comment and the thought of the _last_ time he'd tested a theory, also unable to tell if he were joking or actually making some kind of pass at her. But she doubted it was anything more than sarcasm and reacted to it as such by saying, "Well, you can leave me out of that particular test. As for me, I just thought I might tell you simply because there wasn't a reason not to tell you."

"I see."

It sounded as if he were about to say more, but he'd grown quiet all of a sudden. When Cecilia noticed his attention was focused in a certain direction outside of the hummer, she looked that way and asked him, "What?"

"Lights."

"Lights?," she asked, uncertain she saw anything at all. She continually scanned the distance as they drove along, adding, "I don't see any—," and then she stopped when a dim light caught her attention.

"Wait, I see something fuzzy."

"But you can't make anything else out, can you?"

"No," she replied, looking back over at Wesker. "Can you?"

"Yes. It's coming from the town we're approaching now. Santa Rosa."

Cecilia took that in and looked back out at the fuzzy lights she could see, where Wesker could see more defined dots in a line as if placed along a roadway. As Cecilia thought about it, she said, "Maybe Santa Rosa isn't bad off, or maybe their power grid is simply still up and running but no one's there. Either way, we _do_ need to stop somewhere for supplies, as in food mostly. We're starting to get low. You should probably radio this back too."

"I suppose we _should_ ask opinions," Wesker replied, but his tone made it hard to tell if he were being serious or sarcastic because of the man he'd be asking the opinion of.

It wasn't long afterward that Wesker and Cecilia both realized that asking opinions wasn't going to matter. They were cut off because the bridge had been taken out by a commercial jet that had crashed into it, and they were forced to back track and take a potentially dangerous path which would lead them, for better or for worse, right through the heart of the city.

They prepared by getting Chris into the hummer with his weapons while Cecilia road in back incase scavengers tried to ambush them so that she and Regan could have the element of surprise. Regan had told Shannon all about it and had her wait in the bedroom of the RV with a radio on her belt and Dutch settled near her while the two adults geared themselves up, making sure they had their weapons loaded and ready to go. Cecilia had also gotten a duffle bag with a few odds and ins such as food stored inside of it which she'd hung diagonally around her chest and over her shoulder—just incase.

She sat on the sectional couch to watch through the window on their left side while Regan stood near the driver's seat with good view of the road ahead and to the left, seeing the buildings coming up as they entered town.

In speaking of choices with Wesker earlier, she was starting to wonder if she'd really made the right decision in coming with him now saying this turned ugly.


	21. Swarm

_Chapter 20 - Swarm_

_ December 2nd, 2007_

_ Santa Rosa, New Mexico_

_ 9:27 PM_

"I think we need to make a bet. Will those two kill each other first? Or actually make it to Dallas?"

Regan had said those words softly, referring to Chris and Wesker while standing in the RV and looking through the front windows at the Hummer traveling ahead of them, while Cecilia was double checking her weapons, sitting near one of the windows at the sectional couch to look outside the window behind it. It was dark inside of the RV currently, the lights having been turned out not only to keep them from being so easily noticed, but also to allow them to see through the glass better than they would with the inner glare against the windows.

Cecilia only had her handgun at current with three clips of bullets as well as a dagger on her belt and a smaller knife in her boot. When the tyrant destroyed Wesker's SUV, much of their ammunition had gone up with it, and traveling through an actual town now when driving around it was normally the best way to go, Cecilia wondered if her luck in survival was about to run out or not.

But in response to Regan's question, she softly snorted, "Probably. They seem to hate each other enough that there's a good chance. But, if they do, we can always move on without them."

"Be the strong women surviving the apocalypse, huh?," Regan asked, trying to find as much humor in the situation as she could, but somehow, there just wasn't any there, and the lack of being able to find any confirmed her already obvious suspicions—they were heading into deep shit going through the town like this. Those thoughts aside, she wasn't even sure she wanted to joke about trying to move on from something like Chris and Wesker killing one another. She didn't want to make the rest of this trek without Chris in the very least anyway, and why the sudden thought had popped into her head, she wasn't entirely sure. She knew he was a capable person to have along with them, but somehow, it felt more personal than that.

Maybe she just really hoped he could find his sister in Dallas because he'd tried so damned hard already that it would be extremely terrible if he'd come all this way only to die now. Not to mention her daughter would be broken up if something happened to the BSAA member. That's what she would tell herself the sole reason was anyway, and hope it was true in the meantime. Lord knew things didn't need to be anymore complicated than that, which included developing feelings for someone when the situation could do much better without it.

She had her rifle in hand, the weapon loaded and ready to go in a pinch if she needed it, her handgun on her hip, a radio on the opposite side, and while she stood near the driver's seat of the RV with the desolate buildings passing them outside, she looked back at Cecilia curiously, asking her, "So, what were you in the real world?"

"A police officer," Cecilia replied simply enough. "You?"

"I was a billing and help desk telecommunications agent for an internet company, worked the phones, mainly the Spanish lines because they didn't have much Spanish speaking personnel. Boring job sometimes, but funny when one of them thought I couldn't speak English and called me a bitch or something, especially if their English was particularly bad. I guess that just means I have a good accent though."

Cecilia, who hadn't smiled once since Regan had met her, actually smirked over the story. It was helpful to ease a bit of the tension in the air around them all now, though the woman never let her guard drop, ready for anything in case it popped up. Regan didn't comment on more either. She'd looked outside to notice they were passing into the bulk of the city, and with the realization, the tension that had settled so thick in the air before came back with a vengeance when buildings began passing them by on each side of the highway.

The vehicles weren't moving very swiftly, perhaps a steady fifteen to twenty five down the roadways currently. Wesker was undoubtedly going so slowly incase of the unexpected popping up on them where they would need to figure a way out quickly. So far though, the only things around were abandoned cars littering the nicely wide highway they were taking—and dimly lit street lamps that showed everyone where the lights Wesker saw in the distance before they entered the town had been coming from. Some of them were buzzing or turning off at random, others steadily glowing, but none of them were at their normal brightness.

Still, what little light they did offer was helpful, if not casting even more of an eery and ominous atmosphere to the silence of the road before them than it might've normally had due to a late night fog which had settled in over the town. It wasn't dense thankfully, but it made the lights of the street lamps gleam somewhat, and with the cars that were abandoned on the sides of the road and in the middle of the road itself in several places, all of them knew that Santa Rosa had, in fact, been hit with the virus in some form or another. It was another ghost town, probably haunted with the undead around any corner you could've taken.

Inside of the Hummer, Chris and Wesker were silently watching everything. Businesses were on the left and right side of the roads alike, restaurants, dry cleaners, insurance agencies, and other miscellaneous places, but no sign of life or, alternately, unlife anywhere. Chris hated the silence the most because it always meant _something_ was coming, no matter what might've actually been, and sometimes the tension of waiting hurt worse than what could've been about to happen.

"See anything?," he asked in an attempt to stay on top of things.

"Nothing," Wesker replied simply enough. "Only a clear path down the road. So far," he added the words ominously.

Chris looked unsettled. He kept his weapon in hand and close, and his eyes remained peeled. That's when he noticed someone standing on the side of the road, very still, their head pointing a bit upwards as if staring off into space. They weren't too far from one of the lit street lamps, and they were swaying slightly, definitely undead.

"Straggler," Chris pointed out.

"I see it," Wesker confirmed, his tone even.

Neither of them were baiting each other right now because they both knew better. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Chris remembered Wesker saying, and in this situation, it made a hell of a lot of sense. No matter how much the two hated one another, this was a situation where differences didn't play a role if they wanted to survive and accomplish what they both felt they needed to, no matter how different the end outcomes they both conversely wanted to see were. Now, they had to focus because, now, their goals were the same—get out of the city in one piece alive.

As the hummer began to pass the lone zombie on the roadside, it of course turned to begin following the movement, slowly ambling down the walkway behind them with no hope of catching up as long as they pushed on. Cecilia saw it through the window from inside of the RV, looking over at Regan and saying softly, "Single zombie on the road."

Regan nodded and took a breath. Shannon was still in the back room with Dutch, and she felt questionable about leaving her daughter back there even if it was only about fifteen feet or so from where she stood. So she said, "Shannon," toward the back of the RV, and added, "come up here, sweety."

Regan usually called Shannon "squirt", but now she was worried. Shannon didn't hesitate either, coming out with Dutch just behind her. Having learned a bit more about the dog by this time and how to give him directions, Regan told Dutch to get into the seat. The canine did as was asked of him and hopped up onto it, settling himself in a behaved manner.

Regan knelt down in front of Shannon once she reached her with a worried expression on her face, and told her daughter, "You know where we are now, right?"

Shannon nodded quietly.

Sighing, Regan said, "I want you to stay here next to me, against the wall and the cabinet here and keep your head low, honey. For now, if I say move, you move, got it? I won't let something pop up and take us by surprise, okay?"

Shannon nodded her head again, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek which she got in return before she turned and got down next to the cabinet like Regan said, sitting with her back to the wall and staying low but still in her mother's sight. That was when Cecilia looked back over and gave Regan a grim expression which the red head didn't like. Regan looked outside silently and braced herself for what she might see.

In the hummer, Chris took in a deep breath, asking Wesker, "You still see a clear path to drive?" Chris could see, but not quiet as clearly or far as Wesker, so he was trying to keep tabs.

"So far," Wesker replied, knowing why Chris asked when they saw about a little over zombies ambling aimlessly toward them on the sides of the roadway.

"You let me know the moment that changes," Chris replied as they began to move through the small herd of undead, some of which were close enough to try to grab the window in decaying hands that missed and left a dirty streak across the glass on Chris's side. Another grabbed for Wesker's side and only fell into the vehicle, then down below it, a splattering of blood and gore being crushed out of the his head when the wheels rolled over it without a problem.

The others nearby got close enough to the passing vehicles that they began to lift their hands hit their fists against the walls with low moans and groans of sound. The pounding sounded inside of the RV as it passed the zombies who wanted whatever food they could find, their moans filtering through the walls on top of the thumping that was taking place, and Cecilia cocked her weapon just as Regan did when she heard a whimper of sound coming from Shannon.

"Mama?," Shannon asked softly, uncertainly.

"It's okay, Squirt. We're almost through them now."

Shannon was on the verge of tears, but she nodded bravely for her mother, and took a deep breath. Cecilia watched the little girl, her brows narrowing, the thumping finally coming to a stop as the vehicles made it through. Once it got quiet again, Cecilia looked down at the boot she wore where she had a knife hidden, and she leaned down and pulled it out. With the small blade in hand, she stood and headed to Shannon, holding the weapon out.

Regan watched her, and Cecilia told the child, "Why don't you keep this on you until we're out of here just incase, okay? But I don't think you'll really need it with us around, it's just better to be safe."

Shannon looked at her mother first, and Regan nodded her head, thinking it was a good idea for Shannon to have something to defend herself with right now, like Cecilia had said, just incase. So Shannon reached out and took the knife, holding it in her right hand while wrapping her other arm around her knees as she whispered, "Thank you."

Cecilia nodded and offered the little girl as much of a smile as she could muster in that moment. That's when they felt a bump in the road, and Cecilia looked back up quickly, getting her mind onto the present again when Dutch began growling. The dog was staring out of the window ahead of them, and his fur began to bristle. Not too long after the dog had started doing so, the vehicles rolled to a stop.

Regan and Cecilia could clearly see why the dog was having such a defensive reaction, and also, why the drive had put the breaks on as well. Without hesitation, Regan looked at Shannon and said, "Stay right there and don't look outside, got it?"

Shannon began nodding and pressed her face into her knees to hide her eyes. Meanwhile, in the hummer, Wesker came to a stop somewhat suddenly because up ahead of the hummer he was driving, there were too many zombies to count wandering aimlessly across the highway now. They were all swaying, some standing, others walking as if looking for something they may never find, and some turned when they noticed the movement of the vehicles coming to a stop nearby now. They were scattered around along with cars that were randomly located here and there, leaving the group inside of the cars without a great path to take.

Chris watched the scene as some of the undead began to look toward them through milky eyes, both men taking in the situation ahead of them carefully for only a brief moment when Wesker said, "The good news is that there does _not_ appear to be a blockage of cars I can't maneuver around."

They only had one way to go anyway. "Then floor it," Chris replied without hesitation.

Wesker agreed with the notion as odd as it was to actually do so with Chris Redfield, and he put the hummer into a lower gear and then punched his foot into the gas pedal while Chris lifted the radio to his mouth and spoke into it. "Regan, make sure you guys hold onto something, we're going in fast and noisy. Over."

"_Got it, over._"

The hummer's wheels screeched across the pavement, and the vehicle began to charge down the infested highway. Chris was expecting to see some cracked windshields by the time this was over, and he held onto the bar crossing the roof of the hummer over the door while the scenery began to pass them by. Wesker was aiming the vehicle at the least populated place he could find to start off, and a body suddenly hit the front of the car and went flying away from it with a loud thud.

Zombies had already began to head toward them, and they hit quite a few more on the way in. Just like Chris had thought would happen, one of the bodies was knocked up and onto the front of the car, but instead of cracking the windshield, it only hit the thing with a slight blood spatter and then laid on it's stomach across the hood. Whoever the man had been in life, he was a moderately thin zombie now, lacking clothing on the upper half of his decaying, eaten away body as he looked over at the two behind the windshield and lifted a hand as if to try and reach them with an inaudible groan in that moment.

The zombie never fell off of the hood either as they plowed through the swarm around them now and toward two cars that were spaced just far enough apart that Wesker could make it through the gap, but not without the loud screech of metal scraping along the sides of their own vehicles as the front of the hummer smashed into both cars on each side, knocking them out of the way for him with a crash of sound.

Inside of the hummer, the sudden collision caused Regan to stumble and Cecilia to jolt though it didn't stop them from moving. Shannon couldn't help but let a short yell because the sound had startled her, and as Regan stumbled into a crouch, she felt Shannon grabbing onto her in a tight hold. Regan put an arm around the girl's back but stayed quiet because, honestly, there was nothing to be said in that moment. Shannon was scared with extremely good reason.

Thankfully, there was little damage done to the hummer or the RV as they made it through the narrow passage aside from a few scrapes on each side of the vehicles which only kept them from being pretty to look at completely. But as Wesker emerged on the other side of the two cars he'd just plowed past, he suddenly lifted his foot from the gas and then slammed it down onto the brake. Once more, the tires screeched across the pavement, leaving black trails as they came to a stop, and Chris could easily see the reason why Wesker was halting just ahead of them.

A school bus was laying sideways across the road with a handful of zombies wandering in front of it, completely blocking their path. The way out of town was only blocked further by stranded cars on each side of the toppled over bus. While they might've been able to find another way around the obstruction under normal circumstances, they wouldn't be able to in time to stop the horde of zombies coming up behind them now, as well as the ones in front that were gathering.

Neither man waited to discuss their options either. They had to abandon the vehicles for now or be completely doomed, and they both knew it.

"Regan, abandon the RV and head to the hummer, _now_," Chris said commandingly over the radio, and didn't bother with the proper etiquette of saying "over" because he didn't want a response, he wanted them to move their asses. As he did this, Wesker shut the car off and they each got out on their prospective sides without wasting a single moment.

The swarm was coming.

Both men looked around once outside of the vehicle. Before the hummer was the bus, to the side were buildings, a bargain store on Chris's side and a hotel on Wesker's. Behind them, the zombies they'd just plowed through were coming onto the scene through the cars that Wesker had knocked out of the way with the hummer, not that he'd opened a door in doing so since they'd been parted to begin with. Still, they were heading in fast and Chris saw the three women getting out of the hummer on his side not long after he'd assessed this situation.

Looking ahead at the bargain store were only two zombies wandering toward them, Chris called over to Regan and Cecilia, "Come on, head for the store!"

They weren't arguing with the threats surrounding them now, but Cecilia still asked on the way, "Where's Wesker?"

Chris looked back as she asked, and though he heard gunshots, he didn't see the tyrant anywhere. He couldn't focus though because of the incoming hungry zombies on their tails, yelling back, "No time!" Wesker could take care of himself after all. With the comment, he turned his weapon on a few walking corpses too close to their tails and fired, blowing holes through their heads with gore splattering everywhere behind them while Cecilia aimed at the two ahead of them and took them out with some well placed shots.

Regan was holding onto Shannon, her rifle strapped around her chest and her handgun in her free hand and pointed away as she moved with Dutch running in behind them both, the canine sticking close but still growling at the danger surrounding them all. Regan stayed somewhat between everyone because of her daughter, letting Chris bring up the rear as his hands were free and he'd be a better shot than her. She still tried her best to keep her eyes to their sides anyway as they made their sprint to the bargain store ahead, all of them praying the door would be unlocked once they got there and, even more importantly, lockable once they were inside.

As they drew closer to the desolate looking establishment, Chris took a few more shots at three zombies heading in behind them—one of which was a crimson head that was father back but would have reached them before he could blink—then called when they were down, "Reload!," to the others, pulling out a new clip to load back into his chamber from his pouch.

As he did this, he turned left toward an approaching corpse he'd already caught glimpse of about to reach for him, and before he could jam the new cartridge into the chamber of his weapon, the approaching dead man fell over when a bullet slammed into his temple. Regan had turned and covered Chris when he made the comment of being out of bullets for the moment, holding onto Shannon as tightly as she could in the other arm.

As the zombie fell, Chris had finished reloading his weapon, and he looked over and saw that Cecilia had reached the store ahead of them, but more importantly, that the front door had opened for her. Regan didn't see it because she'd turned to cover Chris, so he told her, "Get Shannon into the store Regan, now!"

Once he'd told her that, he turned to check his opposing side while Regan looked ahead to see that the door was actually unlocked, so she sprinted to get her daughter to safety. Once Chris was done checking his flanks, he was about to turn around and sprint to the store himself when Dutch suddenly leaped up behind him and knocked over a female zombie that was getting too close.

Cecilia had managed to get to the store first, opening the door which was thankfully unlocked, and tried to be as thorough about checking the inside of the darkened building out as she could when entering it with the limited amount of time she had as she stepped through it, aiming left and right, as well as up—just incase. Regan had come in behind her only a moment after that and put Shannon down on the floor with the words to stay between her and Cecilia, and turned back to the door because of Chris. Once she looked back, she saw Dutch jumping one of the corpses before it could reach Chris from behind him and knocking the corpse over as Chris had just turned to face the enemy.

Regan pushed the door open and called out, "Chris! Come on!," to him.

Chris had taken aim at the undead woman as Dutch fought with her because he had a shot which he took, killing it just when Dutch let out a loud yelp.

In the heat of the moment, Chris was unsure what had just happened, if he'd grazed Dutch or if it was something else, but he started moving to the door quickly anyway. Dutch moved in behind him as well, showing that he wasn't wounded badly, and Chris held the door just long enough to let the canine through, then pulled it shut quickly and turned the lock on the handle. He also reached up to the top lever and then down to the bottom one for added protection as another woman from the swarm outside of the door threw herself against the window.

She pressed herself into it, mouth open and hands splayed against the glass, missing an eye and her hair was stringy, but she was actively trying to get to Chris as more zombies began to come in behind her until several were pressing themselves against the glass at the front of the store, wanting the meals waiting inside.

Chris looked up and over them all though without flinching, off to where the hummer was sitting, parked and deserted now. Through the dim darkness and in the distance, he saw a figure standing on the other side of the road, reloading a weapon. It was Wesker, but instead of heading to the store, he turned and went in the opposite direction, separating from the rest of the group. Normally, Chris might've thought he was abandoning them simply because he could, but in this situation, he had absolutely no way to tell and no time to think about it either. After all, zombies were barring Wesker's way, so he didn't really have a choice but to separate for the moment.

Instead of considering it, Chris turned back around to see that Regan and Cecilia had already scoped the inside of the place out to find it mostly empty as far as the front of the store went. While they did that, he began to inspect another problem now that he had a moment since the zombies weren't likely to get through the glass _too_ quickly, though they definitely would eventually, their pounding on the windows a constant reminder of that fact.

Quietly, Chris stepped over to Dutch.

With a deep breath, he knelt next to the canine who was currently complacent, though on the wary side, and looked the dog over closely. Hearing the yelp the dog had let outside didn't bode well with Chris, and he gently nudged the dog to turn around to the other side before he saw the problem. There was a tuft of fur missing and several deep scratches along the skin in the animal's right shoulder. Chris didn't touch it because he knew the dog might bite him in defense, and instead, he balled a fist and took a slow breath.

Dutch would definitely be infected with a wound that deep. Before Chris could settle with the thought of what would have to be done in his head, he heard Shannon's dismayed voice, which was a heartbreaking sound.

"No!" She let a whine of breath and shook her head, "Not Dutch!"

Chris didn't hesitate in what he said next. "Regan, you and Cecilia head to the back with Shannon. We need to find a way out of here and quick."

Shannon was letting little whimpers as she'd began to cry as Regan had pulled her back from getting too close to the animal, realizing this was extremely hard for her, and Chris couldn't make himself look over at her when he heard the heartrending sounds she was making. There was no promise he could give the little girl, and no time to wait. There was no telling how long Dutch had, and they had no time either to just sit and wait inside of the store like happy meals.

Regan lifted her little girl up and began to carry her off while Shannon cried, and Chris looked into Dutch's brown eyes and frowned, shaking his head.

"Why'd you have to jump her for me, Dutch?"

The dog was still panting happily at him, then let a bark out that sounded like he was trying to say he wasn't sorry for protecting his friend, and Chris attempted a small smile, then nodded slowly. "I know, buddy. I get it. Old habits die hard, and it's what you were trained to do. But just...damn."

Letting out a breath, Chris looked back only briefly to see that the ladies were off checking the rest of the place out together now, and more importantly, had Shannon out of sight. He didn't want her to see what he was about to do, and didn't even _want_ to do it himself.

"I'm sorry, Dutch," he sighed, looking back at the dog. "I really am. I'd rather remember you like this though, instead of seeing something bad happening."

As Regan kept Shannon close in her arms, warily stepping through two isles with Cecilia, who had two guns at the ready now. She'd found one not long after entering the store that was just abandoned on the floor which had half a clip of bullets left in it. So she'd taken it because the extra bullets would be useful, and as she aimed while they moved down the isle quietly, they all heard a gunshot sounding behind them. Stopping, they looked back, and Shannon gasped and looked up from Regan's shoulder. Aside from the banging on the front windows, everything else had gone quiet. After a moment of that silence, she lowered her head again and began sobbing once more.

Regan frowned, rubbing Shannon's back gently while whispering, "Shush, Shannon. I know it hurts."

"Poor...poor Dutch," Shannon hiccuped. "Those stupid monsters out there!" Unsteadily, she lifted her head and asked, "They're gonna get in, aren't they!"

Shannon was scared to death. She was trembling, and Regan knew there was little she could say to the child just then to waylay her fears. She was only thankful that the store, so far, seemed to be clear and free of zombies and monsters on the inside. It was kind of sad considering the fact that it was so well stocked, the shelves full of food and other supplies. But she couldn't pay that any attention it at the time, saying simply, "We'll look in back for a way out."

Cecilia had moved on ahead to look when Regan glanced over as she noticed Chris coming up toward them from the front out of the corner of her eyes. Shannon looked up to see him too, and she moved to tell her mother that she wanted down.

So Regan set her on the floor and let her turn to run toward Chris. She held her arms out while heading toward him, and Chris leaned down when she did, lifting her up off of the floor without much effort to settle against his side while still heading toward Regan and Cecilia.

"I'm sorry, Chris," Shannon told him as she hugged his neck. "I didn't keep Dutch closer and he got hurt."

Despite the situation, Chris had to stop briefly, giving Shannon a stern look as he shook his head. "No, that _wasn't_ your fault, Shannon, you got it?"

Shannon was quiet, but finally she started nodding her head. It would all have to be dealt with later though, and Chris looked back at the women once he had Shannon's acknowledgment of his words when Regan asked him, "Did you see Wesker before you came in?"

"After I did, yeah. He went the other way. I have no clue where he's going to go either, but he was blocked. Too many zombies in his path."

There was nothing they could do about it right now, still in danger themselves which Cecilia pointed out. "Come on then, it's pretty empty in here, so let's head to the back and see if there's a door that'll get us out of here before they—," and she was cut off when she heard the glass at the front of the store breaking.

Too late, the zombies had gotten in much faster than was expected.

Chris felt Shannon tighten her grip around him in a gasp, and they all looked back momentarily. He held the child in his left arm, and with his gun in his right hand, he turned around and moved with the women towards the back wall of the store, hoping there would be a door there leading to some kind of freedom and safety for the time being.

What they found though as they got to the end of the isle were two men who quickly rounded the corner that weren't undead, one a Latino with shoulder length black hair tied at the nape of his neck, and the other African American with a dark blue bandana tied around his head, both of them carrying daggers in their hands.

The second of the two men wasted no time, saying to them on a hushed tone of voice quickly, "This way, come on!"

"Fast!," the other one added, and waited until the four of them had moved past before they went in behind them and through a back door that was open.

No matter who these two men were, the four now fleeing for their lives with them knew they would give better company than the zombies swarming them now would provide for certain, and they didn't argue one bit.

There was a door in the back that led them to a side road where more businesses could be seen across the street, but none of the power happened to be working in that particular section of roadway. The six people exited the building quickly and quietly, and as they did, Chris's first instincts were to check their surroundings while the two new guys shut the metal door they'd just used behind them. Chris noticed there was nothing around on that side of the establishment as he looked though, and it was much darker without any dull streetlights to guide their way.

After he realized this, the two new guys turned around and quietly motioned for the group to follow them away from the swarm, apparently realizing that talking just then was out of the question.

No one said a single word as they ran off with the strangers into the dark night.


	22. Haven

_Chapter 21 - Haven_

_ December 2nd, 2007_

_ Santa Rosa, New Mexico_

_10:02 PM_

The streets were quiet and eery, the dark night silent except for the distance moans of the recently disturbed undead swarm on the road where they'd typically been left alone before a hummer with an RV hitched to it had gotten them all riled up not too long ago now. Only a few stragglers were to be found here and there in other parts of the area, wandering down the roadways and into yards and parking lots in search of food.

One of them was ambling over a sidewalk, letting a low wail when a dagger cut through the air and stabbed him right in the head. It only stood there for a moment longer, jaw hanging open before he fell onto his back. Martin Perez was the name of the man who'd just thrown the dagger at the unaware zombie, and he walked over to grab the blade and tug it back out of the skull he'd just pierced with a jerk of his hands while Travis Russit, his taller companion, motioned to show Chris and the others which way to go. The two led them through alleys and down side roads without a problem, but Martin seemed to be more knowledgeable than Travis, saying he might've been native to the town.

Once they'd gotten far enough away from the main road, Martin had gotten closer to Chris to tell him on a hushed tone of voice, "If we get separated, go to the school located three blocks away from here. It's by a long, fenced in yard. Follow the fence to the double doors in the back, and tell the man in the window above that Martin and Travis sent you." He proceeded to give Chris some short directions, and then he grew silent again and led them on.

But they didn't run into too many problems outside of a few zombies here and there which were easily dispatched. Chris wondered if perhaps the bulk of the swarm they'd ran into earlier might've all been drawn to the highway to begin with because of the street lights that were still on, much less the noise they'd made driving down the roadway, but it was hard to say. In fact, he still wasn't completely sure how Martin and Travis had found them, but that could be answered once they'd reached this school that Martin had told him about.

Cecilia was equally as wary as the others while they moved down the road, and Regan couldn't help but think that she hated the fog, no matter how light it was. Chris continued carrying Shannon without worrying over handing her back to Regan because not only was she not much for him to carry, but also because there was just no sense in stopping to make the transfer or to just put her down in general. They'd make it to the school soon enough and then everything could be said and done.

As he'd had the thought, Martin turned onto a lane with a long stretch of yard that was part of the school grounds and fenced in, and the school he'd mentioned to Chris earlier was just beyond it. But Martin didn't go through the fence that surrounded the yard where a door was located, one which had been chained shut. Instead, he continued down the side road with the others like he'd instructed Chris to do, leading them toward the back of the building where the fence turned in at a cement pathway that led along the side of the back wall where a number of windows were located which had been boarded up from the inside.

There was a single man Chris noticed settled above them in one of the windows with a rifle, one who'd concealed himself pretty well with dark clothing and was serving as a look out. Looking ahead, Chris also saw that there was a fence at the other end of the path they were walking down which would block any thing coming from the other way, at least, for a while. A door was settled along the wall with a few steps leading up to it, and Martin stepped up onto them and then looked up at the man in the window above, giving him a thumbs up.

In response, the sniper nodded and lifted a radio up to communicate something inside, which Regan could hear as the words, "_Abre las puertas, Alonzo_."

Chris had been to Spanish speaking locations a number of times before, and he'd picked up on some terms that were simple enough to translate, and sometimes he could understand certain phrases, that was, saying they weren't spoken too quickly. But he wasn't sure about what this guy had just said, and knowing Regan spoke fluent Spanish from their run in with the man named Antonio back in Fairplay, he looked at her with a curiously raised brow.

Regan saw it and whispered, "Open the doors," in translation for him quietly.

Martin looked back and smiled, asking her, "_Usted habla español, Senorita?_"

"S_í_," Regan replied with a nod. "_Yo sé muy bien español_."

"Not another one," Travis muttered out as they reached the door, though he sounded amused. Apparently he didn't speak the language either.

"C_allete_, Travis," Martin grinned. After a moment, they heard locks clicking on the other side of the doors they'd come to wait at for a moment, and the doors opened up.

Inside, the room they all came to stand in was pretty well illuminated, showing five people, men and women alike, either sitting or standing about as if waiting for Martin and Travis to return. One of the women, a blonde with long hair and pretty blue eyes, was a good ways along in a pregnancy.

The place looked like an old storage room of some kind, with a couch settled against the far wall where the blonde haired lady was sitting, and a few tables and chairs here and there in other places. Anything else aside from the oil lamps being used currently was piled up against the walls, and it included all kinds of random objects from school desks to a set of paddles for canoeing, and some folded up ping pong tables.

The doors were shut behind them all once they'd entered, and then relocked by a very tall man of Latin descent with a balding head of short black hair and a thick mustache on his face. Once he'd done this, Martin finally addressed the group he'd brought with them more directly, saying, "Sorry about the lack of an introduction and everything, but we had to be quick. Those freaks were coming in fast, and if they caught our trail, we wouldn't have been able to come back here. We've got children to think about."

"It's no problem," Chris replied, completely understanding the need for speed in that particular moment. He introduced himself by saying, "I'm Chris Redfield, and I'm glad you came along when you did."

"I bet you are," Martin chuckled, then gave his own name more properly. "Anyway, now that we have the time, I'm Martin Perez, and that's Travis Russit," he motioned to the other guy who gave a nod after he'd checked on the woman carrying a baby. Chris nodded back, then looked at Martin who began to speak once more, telling them all, "The big guy behind you is my Uncle, Alonzo Perez, and that's Cassandra Russit, Travis's sister-in-law."

Martin looked back over at them after he'd named off everyone in the room and, without needing to be prompted, gave them more information. "We saw you guys rolling through town while we were out scavenging, and saw you coming to a stop too. That swarm was on you and we noticed you heading to the store. I used to work there, and I knew there was a back way, so we ran for it to try to help you out, especially when Travis noticed you had a little girl with you." As if an afterthought, Martin added, "You guys were moving pretty fast for someone not using any headlights. It's a good thing you didn't crash. Though, considering what _did_ happen, it might be better if you had, right?"

"You guys definitely drew the attention of every zombie in town too, let me tell ya," Travis added, shaking his head. "Never seen these back roads so quiet. Then again, that street you were on hasn't ever _really_ been abandoned. Seems like most of the zombies like to wander around there because of the flickering lights."

Chris decided not to mention Wesker or his ability to see better in the dark than the average person which had allowed them to take on a little more speed than usual. For now, it was better not to bring it up, and he didn't get a chance to say anything anyway when the door in the front of the room opened up and a woman walked in, getting Martin's attention.

"Martin, you should go see your boy. He's worried about you."

"Ah, _mierda_, he's still awake?" After Martin asked that, the woman who'd spoken to him nodded her head and Martin sighed, turning to go into the door in the back of the room. As he opened it and left, the woman who'd gotten his attention, wearing a blue shirt and a pair of jeans and tennis shoes with long, curly black hair in spirals everywhere, looked back at the new people and gave them a smile.

"Sorry about that. Martin's son, Enrique, is four years old. Martin's all he has left. I couldn't get him to calm down when Martin and Travis left, but Martin knows the place best and he can get in and out of tight spots pretty fast."

She looked them all over with a kind smile and then settled her brown eyes on Shannon who was still being carried by Chris. Shannon noticed the smile she gave to her as well before she introduced herself by saying, "I'm Megan. What's your name?"

"Shannon," she whispered.

"Shannon? That's pretty." Megan grinned, then looked between Regan and Cecilia before she asked, "Hmm, which one is the mother. Has to be her, right? You both have pretty red hair." She'd motioned at Regan when she made the comment.

"Yes," Regan nodded with a smile of greeting back to her. "My name's Regan, and this is Cecilia."

Cecilia gave a simple, quiet nod, and Megan returned the greeting, then she chuckled. "Megan and Regan, huh? Hope that doesn't get confusing."

Regan smirked, then looked over at her daughter when Chris began to put her down while she asked, "You have children here?"

"Yes, we do," Megan nodded her head. "We have seventeen here in all, none older than thirteen, and a handful of elderly, all the ones they could save."

"This was a school?," Chris stated more than he asked, trying to piece everything together.

"Yeah, this is just the backdoor to the middle school here," Megan replied. "The only living people in town are in this building, and we keep all of the doors and windows boarded up tight, except that one you just came through. Once someone leaves, we lock it, and nothing gets in until they get back. They've been here for a little over two weeks now, trying to get everything set up so the people can have something, and send out some guys to scavenge from time to time, do whatever we can to stay safe. We can't seem to get in touch with anyone outside yet."

Chris nodded slowly, taking it in. Just a group of survivors trying to keep a safe harbor from the storm. He told Megan in response, "We were traveling through here and found the bridge over the river was out, so we had to make a turn and go through the town instead of around it like we wanted to."

Megan gave a look that said she knew exactly what he was talking about. "Yeah, I saw the same thing with my boyfriend, Maurice, about three days ago now. That huge jet that crashed into the bridge when we were driving along blocked us from trying to make it to Dallas ourselves. We were making really good time too, so we tried to backtrack, but no luck. Alonzo found us, and brought us here about two days ago now."

Travis was the next to speak, saying, "There's a lot of people who're not from here that we've taken in. Alonzo and Martin lived here before though. Alonzo's from Panama, but he moved here with his family and Martin was born here. They know the place best." Travis motioned to the tall man who Martin had said was his uncle, and then added, "We'll get you guys a place where you can all sleep, you're probably tired anyway."

Chris shook his head, saying, "As grateful as we are for the safety, we won't be staying here long."

Alonzo and Travis exchanged a looked, and Alonzo looked back at Chris and asked, his voice bearing a Spanish accent, "You're still intent on going to Dallas then?"

Megan shook her head at them suddenly, getting their attention. When they looked at her, she commented, "While you guys discuss this, let me take Cecilia, Regan, and her little girl to get her something to eat and a place to rest for a bit, okay?"

Chris figured that sounded okay, and Shannon looked up at him as if curious what he thought. He found that somehow amusing in an endearing way, and he patted her shoulder and said, "Sounds good to me. You guys go on."

Shannon gave a nod, then took her mother's hand when Regan reached over for it. As they moved along, they heard their other companion speaking up behind them. "I'm starving, but I don't really want to intrude," Cecilia told Megan, not certain she liked the idea of eating their food when the four of them had no concrete plans to stick around for long. She agreed with Chris after all. She'd been stuck in a small town for most of this time, and she wanted to get moving to Dallas again if for no other reason than she still agreed with what Wesker said about trying to keep provisions up. If you settled in one place too long, you could bunker down, but eventually, you weren't going to have anything left to keep yourself going.

The woman looked back as they reached the door and said, "Nah, don't worry about it, lady. Come on, we've got plenty to go around in the cafeteria right now. Won't hurt if you have something on your stomach. It'll give you strength anyway."

Reluctantly, Cecilia nodded and then went with them. Travis helped his blonde haired sister-in-law Cassandra who was carrying a baby to stand up from her seat at the couch in the room, and Megan went with her the rest of the way. Once they'd left, Alonzo and Travis looked back at Chris who'd also watched them going, and then looked over when Alonzo asked him a question.

"So, you still wanna leave?" The man sounded curious over the idea, and also uncertain.

"Yeah, I don't have much choice in that," Chris told the man honestly. "Our transportation still works, it's just a matter of getting back to it safely."

"Heh, that's not as easy as it might seem, _hombre_," Alonzo informed him. "You know how fast some of those things out there are? I've seen them with sharp claws, and this one I saw had this creepy tongue that it—," Alonzo stopped when Chris interrupted him.

"Crimson heads are the ones with the claws and the Lickers are a different story. Believe me, I know exactly what's out there, and I know the risks involved with getting back to my transportation. But like I said, I don't have a lot of choice in the matter."

_"Por qué?,"_ Alonzo asked, but he sounded sincerely curious only. As if in a habit of it, he automatically translated his Spanish, asking, "Why not?"

With a sigh of breath, Chris informed him, "A lot of reasons, but mostly because I'm a BSAA member who has to try to regroup with anyone I can find left over from my company, and there's probably several of them in Dallas, if Dallas is still quarantined."

"BSAA?," Travis asked. "What the hell does that stand for?"

"It doesn't matter now," Chris replied plainly. "Not until I get to Dallas anyway."

"But like you said, man, Dallas might not even be there. If it's not, _then_ what you gonna do?," Alonzo asked him.

"It depends on what _is_ there," Chris replied as if the matter were closed now with those words. Equally as seriously, he told Alonzo in addition, "I can't let them down if they _are_, so even if Dallas is another hellhole, I have to go back and check out my options."

With a sigh of breath, Alonzo gave a nod of his head. "Soldier type stuff, I get it. But for now, you still need to settle here for a while, at least until morning when it's light out and it's easier to see. You'd have a better chance of things then."

Chris didn't reply to that. His mind was on the tyrant chasing Wesker down, and on Wesker too for various reasons, wondering what the man might've been up to just then. Hell, maybe if he was lucky, the tyrant would show up, kill him, and leave the rest of them the hell alone. But then again, getting Wesker to Dallas and in custody might've been a good idea too—saying Wesker would divulge information that could help them stop the people responsible for the shitty state of the world now.

In either case though, there was no telling what could happen between now and morning, and if Chris could help it, he was going to get out of Santa Rosa as soon as possible.

"Hey," Travis said, sensing Chris's hesitation, "if you gotta go, then you gotta go. But what about your family in there? Wife and kid? Shannon's your little girl, right?"

Chris knew it would have looked that way because he'd been carrying Shannon when they'd come in. But he shook his head no, and for some strange reason, he almost felt like he had to force himself to do it. Still, he told the truth of the matter. "No, she's not mine, and Regan's not my wife. We're all just trying to survive together."

"Well, in that case, you could leave them here," Travis suggested. "If you got to Dallas and found out it wasn't there anymore, well, they'd be back here where they'd be safer. Especially the little girl. She's scared, it's easy to see."

"Yeah, I know she is," Chris replied with a soft sigh, and didn't say much of anything else as he walked past them and toward the door in the back. For now, he didn't consider the possibility, and all he asked was, "Mind if I go see where they went?"

"Sure," Alonzo nodded, walking over. "I'll show you around. Most everyone's asleep right now though, so we'll have to be quiet."

Chris gave a nod of understanding and began to follow the man further into the building. He'd grabbed a flashlight and told Chris, "Some of the buildings around here still have power, but we're just waiting for the station to run out of fuel. A guy named Henry worked at the power station, and he said he could keep the thing going for us, but he left on a run one night about a week ago and never came back. So now we're just waiting for it to turn off. In the meantime we're sticking to flashlights and oil lamps, trying to keep the hot water running longer, that kind of thing."

Chris listened as he noticed the walls had been cleaned by the people staying in the school currently and that the floors were apparently taken care of as well because there was a custodian's cart with fresh cleaning materials on it settled next to a closed door. On the other side of the hallway were classrooms, some filled with empty desks, and others had a few pallets with people—children in fact—sleeping in them.

Chris was almost glad for the blockage in the highway now, that was, saying they could get out of Santa Rosa, which he knew wouldn't be impossible but might prove to be tricky. But once they got to Dallas, he could send someone here to evacuate these people, and he planned to do just that, especially with the children around. He tried not to remind himself that Dallas could've been overrun by now, only focusing on the thought that he could find some way to save this group, and that was what was important.

Another thing Chris noticed was that, like he'd seen outside, the windows were boarded up, and Alonzo said to him after they'd passed a room, "We got the class rooms set up to house some of the kids. They have fun drawing on the chalkboards during the day, you know, and with the school books, well, we can kind of make them fell more comfortable by teaching them stuff. Everyday we try to board off more windows so we can use more rooms, but we keep the ones that aren't locked up so no one goes in them, just incase you know?"

Chris nodded his head, saying, "Sounds like the best idea for now. Santa Rosa's small too, so as long as you guys are quiet, hopefully nothing much will come this way, but you still have to prepare for it. No place is completely safe now."

"I know," Alonzo sighed as if he'd probably seen more than the average person, a sound that Chris had made more than once before. Alonzo then told him, "We raided the police station a week ago. Lost a man in the process, but came out of it with a lot of protection at least. Can't say that makes up for the lost life though," he sighed. As they made it toward an adjoining hallway, he added, "Anyway, I know Megan took your people to the cafeteria. It's down this way," pointing to the left when they reached their turn.

Chris went left with him and to a set of double doors which were opened. The room inside was pretty dark, but there were a few flashlights going and some candles on a few of the tables. One the far wall was a picture of a field with children playing in it which the students had no doubt painted there a long time ago now, and like everywhere else, the windows had all been boarded up tight. Apparently, this was where everyone was eating as well, the scent of food not heavy in the air, but still easily detected.

Chris looked around it for only a brief moment when he saw Regan sitting with Shannon by themselves where Cecilia was with Megan at the little buffet the cafeteria sported at the far end, putting a plate of food together.

"There they are," Alonzo said with a motion of his hand, and then gave Chris a smile. "I'll be over here if you wanna ask something."

"Alright," Chris nodded, thankful for the hospitality honestly. He was glad the group was as kind as they were, instead of out for someone else's demise so they might be able to get ahead. But he didn't say more on the matter before he looked back at Regan who waved a hand for him to come over as if to let him know it was alright even though Shannon was on her lap with her head settled against her chest.

Getting the invitation, Chris walked over and Cecilia turned at about the same time to leave the buffet line. A moment later, they were both sitting down at the table with two plates of food and a small side dish that had three little bags of Reese's Pieces and mini Three Musketeers on it.

Cecilia, who'd carried the plate of candy over and settled it down, looked over at Shannon and said, "Hey, look. I know you're not hungry, but Megan said she wants you to keep this whether you eat it now or later."

Shannon looked back and over at the plate and then smiled when she saw the candy, turning her eyes across the room at Megan who gave her a warm grin and waved her fingers, standing with Alonzo not too far away.

Giving her a thankful smile, Shannon looked back at Regan and said, "The people here are really nice at least. I was scared they might be mean after Rapid City and Edgemont."

"Me too, Squirt," Regan told her, brushing her fingers through the child's hair. "You haven't said much though. How are you feeling, honey?"

"Sad," Shannon told her. "About Dutch. Still a little scared from that run, but better now. Sad though," she frowned.

"I know. But," Regan started thoughtfully and pursed her lips. Finally, she looked at her daughter and said, "You know, when we make it to Dallas, maybe you can get another dog if we can find one. Or a cat, whichever. I know it doesn't make up for Dutch, but I figured you wouldn't mind thinking about it anyway, right?"

Shannon started nodding her head at Regan, finally saying, "Yeah, I get it. I know Dutch wasn't mine though. He just kind of felt like it. But...I guess now I can sit in the car and wait with someone else. I mean, if we still had the car."

"There's a chance we can get it back," Chris told her because he felt like she was worrying too much and needed a little good news to help cheer her up. When she looked over at him, he told her honestly, "I don't know how much of a chance, but we'll figure something out to keep moving. Either way," he sighed, shaking his head, "I can't stay here."

Shannon silently nodded at him and smiled. Then she looked over when Cecilia asked, "How would we get back to the hummer though? That's the question. Those zombies aren't just going to wander away any time soon you know."

"No, but like I said, we'll figure it out. Wesker's still out there too," he added more quietly, not certain he liked the idea of these people meeting the tyrant. "Maybe that counts for _something_."

Cecilia looked down at her plate of food and pursed her lips in thought. Perhaps it would, she considered, knowing Wesker wasn't helpless and could possibly do _something_ like Chris had said. She knew Chris had a lack of faith in the man, but he did seem to know that Wesker could pull off a great deal as well, so who knew what might happen.

"For now," she began to speak after a moment of thought, "I'm going to eat a little something, and we can get some rest, see what ammo we have left, and then figure things out. Seems like the best plan."

Chris agreed with that, tugging his gun off of his belt before he pulled out the cartridge and checked it. Following the movement, he began to go through his pouches and counted his ammo up. He still had his shotgun fully loaded, and as Cecilia ate which she didn't have to force herself to do because she'd had very little to live on for the past several days now, she did her own inventory. Regan still had a full rifle and some extra rounds, as well as a nearly full handgun and an extra clip to boot.

They rationed the handgun ammo evenly between themselves, and as they did this, Alonzo walked over and got their attention.

"Hey, Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"You said you were in some kind of military group, right? You know anything about fixing guns? Some of the ones we found are jammed. If you can show me anything useful while you're here, it'd be a big help."

"Sure," Chris nodded, turning around so he could stand up. "Where are they?"

"We put 'em at this table over here."

Cecilia, who just finished with her food at that time, stood and went with them, saying, "I'll help if I can. I need something to distract me for a bit anyway."

Regan watched the woman going, and while they helped Alonzo with the weapons they had, she held onto Shannon where she sat, just rocking her slightly and humming to her. Shannon actually began to fall asleep after a short while, worn out from all of the fear she'd felt and the running they'd done, as well as the general adrenaline rush of the evening. Regan continued to hold onto her though, even after she went limp, just comfortable like that for a while. At least, until her leg started going to sleep. Turning, she looked around for a place to put Shannon when Megan tapped her shoulder.

Regan looked up at the lady to see that the woman held a pillow in her hands as if she'd noticed Shannon had nodded off, and motioned to a bench against the wall not too far away from the table where she was sitting. Regan stood and walked over, leaning down to settle Shannon on a folded up blanket that Megan had put down to make it more comfortable, her head on the pillow where she continued peacefully sleeping for the moment. Regan took the time to stroke her daughter's back a bit to help her feel more at ease, and then stood up when she was convinced that Shannon was going to be out of it for just a bit.

Sitting back down at the table where she'd been before, Regan looked across it and at Megan who had sat down while she'd been putting Shannon on the little pallet, and they were quiet for a few moments as Megan began pulling some blue yarn out of a bag she'd carried over to the table with her. She also had a crochet hook, wrapping some of the yarn around her fingers, getting it ready to make something with apparently.

Regan watched her quietly when Megan said, "Your daughter is so cute."

"Yeah," Regan smiled, "she's usually a spunky one, but tonight was different. We had to put a dog down she'd become fond of. Poor thing got scratched on the way in."

Megan frowned at her, shaking her head sadly. "I'm sorry to hear that. How old is she?"

"She'll be nine not too long from now."

"It's good to hear you say it that way. A lot of people around here have lost so much hope that, well, you know, they talk different now." Megan let a little sigh, adding, "It's not she _will _be, but she _might be_ to them now. Still, I know what they mean. I lost people on the way here too. My boyfriend, Maurice, he's asleep right now, but his brother Antonio and their cousin, Miguel got separated from us and we don't know what happened to them. It was a hard journey."

Regan stared at the lady for a moment as she worked with the yarn, then tilted her head and asked, "Was Antonio a bigger guy with somewhat long, wavy black hair and a bit of fuzz on his chin?" Megan looked up quickly, listening as Regan asked furthermore, "They drove a white sedan?"

"Yeah," Megan drew out. "You saw them?"

Regan hated the hopeful look in Megan's eyes, nodding as solemnly as she could. The nod seemed to tell Megan all that she needed to know, and she asked softly, "They died?"

Regan couldn't hide the truth from her. With a sigh of breath, she said, "Yes. There were some _really _hideous monsters around when we found them though. Antonio was alive, but he'd already been attacked and wounded and was dying."

Megan seemed to understand, looking down. On a soft tone, she asked, "What about Miguel? He was hurt when we got separated."

Something suddenly clicked with Regan. _El hombre con ojos rojos del diablo_. Those were Antonio's words, which meant Wesker had been the one who hurt them, or Miguel at least, and she looked over at Chris across the way who was trying to help the guys with the guns which he'd apparently taken to fixing with Cecilia and didn't seem to hear much of the current conversation. If he had, she wondered how he might've reacted. Regan also wondered if Megan had even seen Wesker though, but she decided not to mention him.

After all, if these people thought they were with someone, well, bad for more or less, who knew what they might do. So she simply answered Megan's question without any kind of descriptive elaboration.

"He was already gone when we found Antonio."

"Attacked too?"

"I...uh," Regan sighed. Miguel had killed himself. How could you say that without making it completely unpleasant?

"It's okay," Megan told her when she hesitated, "I know it probably wasn't pleasant, but I would like to tell Maurice when he wakes up. He'll want to know."

"Well," Regan started softly, "Antonio said he decided his own fate. As far as I know, he wasn't attacked and killed, he just decided on his own to...you know."

Megan actually looked relieved. Regan watched her as she shook her head, "That's better than what I'd thought. We both figured he might be a monster now or something, but I'm actually glad he never became that. Hopefully he'll find some peace."

Regan knew what she meant. She didn't want to lose her daughter for anything, but if she were forced into choosing, and couldn't take a death herself in order to save Shannon's life, she'd chose for Shannon to simply be...she couldn't even think it. But it was better than the alternative of infection either way, not that anything besides being the little girl she was now was any good in Regan's opinion.

As she'd thought about it, Megan let a little sigh and informed her, "Miguel was always the impetuous one, but he was pretty funny. My boyfriend wanted to open a bar in Nevada, call it Las Estrellas, but we never got there. Antonio was the smart one, had a business degree, and Maurice had the money. So they were going to put the stuff together and open it. Miguel would've worked for them. So would I," she chuckled softly. "We were in the middle of getting a place it when everything happened."

"Yeah," Regan drew out slowly in understanding, looking over at Shannon. "It happened fast. Not a lot of people had time to prepare."

Megan looked from Regan and over at Shannon where she'd glanced, then she said, "Hey, at least you still have her. Did you have a husband too? What about that Chris guy over there who was carrying her? You two married?"

"No," Regan shook her head, looking back at Megan. "He found us stranded in a farm house in Colorado and took us with him. We'd never met before that."

"_Maldito_," Megan replied, cursing in Spanish. "_Usted tiene suerte_."

"Yeah, we got lucky alright," Regan sighed out in agreement. "Extremely so because Chris had been through this before." Leaning on an elbow against the table top, she chuckled a little and added, "In fact, _I_ seem to be the dumbass who keeps getting us into trouble. But Chris has a good eye for solutions it seems. Great eye actually."

Megan glanced over to see him with Alonzo, showing the man a function of one of the guns they'd managed to loot, and she started looping more of her yarn across her crochet hook with a smirk. When Regan noticed the look on her face, she became heavily curious and asked her about it in Spanish just in case someone overheard.

"_¿Qué?__¿Por qué sonríes así? _" _What? Why are you smiling like that?_

"_Porque..._," Megan started, and then trailed for a moment before adding, "_n__o sólo tienen__ buenos ojos, pero_," she glanced back over at Chris, just as he'd leaned for something, and finished by saying, "_el hombre tiene un buenos culo también__._"

Regan stared at her for a moment and suddenly bit her lips. She was trying to keep herself from laughing too much, and she glanced at Chris for a moment, but didn't look for too long. Megan had just said Chris didn't only have great eyes, but also a great ass, and Regan couldn't help but shake her head over the insinuation, or bring herself to really try and see if she agreed with Megan's compliment to his backside or not either.

Instead, she simply told the woman, "_Tal vez, pero ahora no es el tiempo para ese tipo de cosas...tristemente__._"

Megan was snickering as Regan told her that maybe that was true, but now wasn't a good time for that kind of thing, jokingly adding the word _sadly_ at the end before she let out a somewhat playful sigh of breath.

With a smirk, Megan told her, "No, it's not really, but looking never hurt. Anyway, Alonzo said he's not wanting to stay here long."

"No, he has to get to Dallas, see if his sister is still alive."

"Alonzo never mentioned that," Megan said with a little shrug. "He just said something about a military unit."

"Oh, yeah, there's that too," Regan nodded. "He doesn't seem to have much of a choice in the matter."

"What about you? You could stay here with Shannon you know? Keep her safe."

"Yeah, maybe. But honestly," Regan started, looking over at Chris and Cecilia, thinking about everything for a moment. "I'd have to think about it. I mean, we've been through a lot already, and I don't know how much I like the thought of him going back out alone. God knows he probably wouldn't need me, but even still, he's saved my life, and my daughter's life, and even though he's not her father, Shannon's gotten attached to him. I don't know how she'd react to the idea of him leaving us here."

"I get it. It's easy to tell she's taken to him with the way she was holding onto him when he brought her in. She feels safe with him around, and that's a good thing."

"Yeah, I think she does, and it's a very good thing, especially in this world. Safety seems to be hard to find."

Megan agreed with that before she curiously asked, "What happened to her real father? Was he killed when this started?"

"No," Regan shook her head, then she gave that a second thought and shrugged her shoulders. "Or well, I don't know. I can't say I'd be unhappy if he was though. He wasn't what you'd call...well, it's a long story."

Megan gave her an understanding smile, then she went back to crocheting. "No need to say more. But if you guys _do_ leave, I hate to say it, but I honestly don't know how you plan to get out of here."

"I was curious about that myself actually," Regan replied. "There's a bus in our way, and zombies swarming the place out there. It's not going to be easy, no matter what we do." After a brief pause, Regan added, "But, like I said, Chris has a good eye for finding solutions. He'll probably figure something out. In fact, I should probably go see if they've figured anything out yet or not. Excuse me for a second."

"No problem," Megan smiled, still crocheting. "I'll let you know if your girl stirs much."

"Thanks," Regan replied with a smile, having already stood a moment before and went to walk over to where Chris and Cecilia were sitting. As she did, she noticed that Alonzo had left the cafeteria, maybe because he'd had to go use the bathroom. It was the only thing Regan could think of that he might've been leaving for anyway.

Once she settled down with Chris and Cecilia, Chris asked her, "What were you two talking about over there?"

Regan glanced over at the man and then shrugged, "Just chatting."

"I heard some Spanish," he informed her as if in explanation of why he'd asked in specific, saying, "thought it might've been something important."

Regan thought about the conversation she'd had with Megan, which was partly about his ass, and shook her head. "No, couldn't say it was too important." To keep him from pressing the matter, she mentioned something that actually was. "But if Wesker finds his way here, there's gonna be trouble. You remember Miguel and Antonio, right? The guys we found when we were getting the battery for the hummer?"

"Yeah," Chris replied, narrowing a brow when he looked over at her. "Why?"

Regan glanced back to where Megan was crocheting, and noticed she was paying them absolutely no mind, so she told Chris, on a soft tone of voice, "That was Megan's boyfriend's brother and cousin. Wesker was the one who hurt Miguel according to Antonio. So if Wesker shows up here, Megan and Maurice will get scared and it might incite something, don't you think?"

Chris sighed out a breath in realizing this while cocking the hammer of a magnum he held to make sure it would click the way it needed to before he replied, "I think Wesker drags trouble along with him wherever he goes by principle alone. So yeah, if he shows up, we might want to be as brief as possible."

"If he's even still alive out there," Regan sighed out.

"He's alive," both Chris and Cecilia confirmed to Regan's comment at the same time. Then they looked at one another and shook their heads.

"So," Chris started, his statement pointed at Cecilia. "How did you find out he wasn't normal?"

"He tore off the door of the weapon's safe at the police station and threw it away like cardboard."

Chris snorted like he might've seen such a feat a million times now. Regan listened to this, confounded as she hadn't seen Wesker performing any unbelievable feats yet, but decided to trust in Chris and Cecilia's comments.

"Was this not long after you met him?," Chris asked next.

"Right when I met him actually," Cecilia replied before she snapped a clip into a weapon and then checked the compartment, adding, "I knew then I'd be in trouble if I left with him. Just seemed like I'd be in _more_ trouble if I stayed."

"And you were a police officer there?"

"Was," Cecilia told him. "I was on suspension when the outbreaks started. I ignored an order the chief gave and he didn't like it, but I did what was right, no questions asked."

Chris seemed to find that statement amusing. Regan and Cecilia both picked up on his expression, and Regan asked him, "What are you smirking about?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "She just sounds like me. I never was good at following orders if I didn't agree with them. _Especially_ when I didn't agree with them. Got me into trouble a lot when I was younger."

"Were you a police officer too?" Cecilia didn't know the answer yet, or at least, not in full, and she suddenly seemed to remember part of the story when she added, "Oh wait, I remember, that team Wesker used to lead."

"Yeah," Chris grumbled out, but gave her a little more clarity. "There was that, but before then I was in the Air Force. I was discharged for something similar to the reason you were suspended."

"Oh," Cecilia replied with a short nod. She then said more than asked him, "Stands to reason you know how to pilot then, right?"

Chris nodded his head. "Sadly, it's not easy to find a craft that hasn't been crashed already or isn't low on fuel. If we found something abandoned with enough fuel in it though, I could fly us to Dallas, but so far, no such luck, and going out of the way to find one doesn't seem worth it when there's the chance of losing the transportation we _do_ have."

Cecilia was about to comment that they might've already lost it anyway when Alonzo had come back in during the latter part of the conversation. Having heard some of the words spoken as he approached them, he stopped at the table and gave Chris a curious look. "Wait, did you just say you know how to fly, amigo?"

Chris looked up at the man, then gave a short nod of his head. "Yeah, I know how."

Alonzo took that in, and finally asked, "What do you know about helicopters?"

The questions were starting to get interesting, and Chris narrowed his brows and forgot about the weapon he'd just been inspecting, replying, "Enough." Curiously, he sat forward a bit and asked, "Why?"

A few minutes later, Chris was up on the roof of the school with Alonzo. They used a service ladder from the inside to climb up, and once outside again, Chris looked toward the center of the building's roof. Settled there was a Bell style helicopter with lettering on the side that said "DPD". Beneath the larger lettering, it added the text "Denver Police Department", and Alonzo began to explain where it came from.

"A guy named Edward came through here, a member of the Denver Police. He had family in Santa Rosa, and came down to try to find them when things started going bad, but they had already left. He left this chopper behind because he knew where they were going, and said he didn't have enough fuel to make it there. He told us that the helicopter might come in handy sometime, I guess in too much of a hurry to care what happened to her from the way he rushed outta here. Anyway, it's just been sitting up here all this time. No one around knows how to fly her. If _you_ can though, well," Alonzo shrugged, "consider her yours."

Chris listened as he went to the door and opened it up, checking the interior out, looking at the supplies. There could have been some type of extra fuel reserve somewhere, but after checking the craft out thoroughly, he didn't see anything like that around. Chris sighed and shook his head over it, thinking that was typical.

"Well, he was right in that she doesn't have any backup fuel, and they don't run on gas station brands," Chris started, then pulled himself up into the cockpit and reached to flip the switches and turn the power on so the fuel gauge would read. "Wonder how much is actually left in the tank though."

As everything came to life inside, Chris saw that the fuel was in fact low, definitely not enough to get to Dallas, and that was a shame because it had room for everyone with Chris currently to ride in it. But it did have enough gas to get them at least a little ways, though Chris had to consider what would carry them to Dallas after that.

"Well, even if you guys did know how to fly this bird, you wouldn't get far, and there's not an airbase nearby that I can think of off the top of my head that could refuel her," Chris trailed, trying to think of one.

"What about in Conchas? There's an airport up there I think, and they might have some fuel. That's about...I don't know, fifty miles give or take. You think she's got enough in her for that?"

"Actually, she only has about fifty miles in her at all, give or take," Chris replied, letting out a short groan of breath.

"Oh, that's risky," Alonzo pointed out from where he stood just outside of the helicopter. You could get her there, but if they don't have what you need, you'd be stuck."

"I know, that's what I was considering," Chris replied to the very accurate statement, leaning his arm over the console in thought.

"Hey Alonzo," a voice suddenly came from behind them, interrupting the conversation. Alonzo looked back to see one of the men from inside the school sticking his head above the surface of the service hatch, and when he had Alonzo's attention, he went on. "Althea's sick. She needs something to calm her stomach down. Where'd you put that pepto?"

"Oh okay, one second, I'll go get it." The guy nodded in response and went back down into the school again. Alonzo looked back at Chris afterward, saying, "Just come on back down by yourself, _hombre_. We're not going anywhere, and maybe you'll think of something in the meantime."

"Alright," Chris replied, then watched Alonzo leaving. Once he'd climbed down, Chris let a little sigh out, his mind going over all of the possibilities. He could always get the chopper off the ground and go look over the highway, see if the hummer and the RV were still surrounded or not. But he got the feeling that would be pointless and just a waste of fuel.

If he knew he could get more in Conchas, he could take everyone and they could have a smooth ride the rest of the way to Dallas, but somehow he didn't think flying there just to learn that they _didn't_ have what he needed would be worth it.

It always worked out that way, Chris thought to himself. It was like a damned slap to the face to find a helicopter like this in perfect working condition and not be able to use it. From the way it seemed, this night was only getting worse with each turn. First the swarm, and now a tease at hope which, given enough of, could drive a man insane.

Then again, they'd been found by two people who had a place for them to hunker down in for at least a while so they could get their plans in gear. Chris knew to count blessings where he had them, and in that thinking, sometimes he wondered if he was endlessly lucky because there'd been so many times before now where he should've died but didn't.

Sometimes he wondered two simple words—why me? Why was _he_ so fortunate?

Chris didn't let himself muse over that for too long though, knowing such questions would be pointless right now. Instead, he thought about the situation he was currently in, and wondered what luck might have in store for him and for his traveling companions next. He wondered just what Wesker might've been up to right then too, or if Wesker even knew where the rest of them had gone off to.

It was about this time that he heard a thud on the roof not too far from where he was settled. He looked over and through the window on the side of the stationary chopper, and saw that Wesker had apparently just jumped up and onto the roof from another building nearby perhaps, knowing the tyrant had that ability. _Speak of the devil_, he thought with a sigh of breath as he watched Wesker walking around while admiring the helicopter in his own way.

Once he was within Chris's hearing range, he said, "I see you've found an alternate means of travel. Saying the fuel tank is full, this could get us to Dallas with no problem."

"Well, that's the problem right there," Chris informed the man, "it isn't. There's an airport in Conchas, might have some more fuel for her there, but we could risk getting stranded because she's only got about fifty miles worth left in her."

"Typical," Wesker replied, his tone flat, watching as Chris turned the power off and then climbed out of the chopper.

Once on the roof again, Chris shut the door and asked Wesker, "So, finally manage to find a way around the swarm, huh?"

"I figured you would have the situation under control in the meantime, and yes, the zombies blocked my path, so I went to do a little sight seeing. Not much in Santa Rosa to see however as I had expected, but I did manage to find a canister of fuel at a gas station for when we depart. Sad that fuel for this helicopter can't be found laying around quiet as easily."

Chris could agree with the sentiment, but he didn't say so. "Getting more gas for the hummer is fine and all, but there's still zombies surrounding our transport, Wesker, not to mention a bus in the way."

Wesker smirked as if the bus didn't matter to him. "You seem to forget who you're traveling with, Chris. I can move the bus myself. It might take some doing, but pushing it far enough out of the way to drive past it shouldn't be an issue for me."

Chris watched Wesker for a moment, then sighed, trying to keep himself civil. He couldn't help it though. It just went against his nature to do anything civilly with this asshole, even have a simple conversation, and he couldn't help the irritation that showed through in his voice when he said, "Yeah, well, don't let anyone here see you doing it, or even see you at all for that matter. There was a man you hurt a while ago and a two people inside who was there when you did it. If they see you, they might not be so friendly with us anymore."

Wesker lifted a single brow in confusion, telling Chris in response, "You'll have to be more specific, Chris. I've hurt a lot of people as you know."

Chris balled a fist to keep himself in check, but before he could say anything more, Wesker added, "Besides, I hadn't realized we were planning on staying longer than it took to get the supplies we need."

"We're not," the BSAA member spit out, then took a breath to keep himself from erupting. "But even still, you don't need to be seen by these people or it's gonna get ugly."

"I'll make sure I stay out of their line of sight," Wesker assured him on a droll tone of voice as if the matter would be no problem for him, and was little more than a slight irritation. Then he reminded Chris, "In the meantime, don't forget what's chasing us. If we stay here too long, it will catch up and _get ugly_ anyway."

"Chasing _you_," Chris amended for him. "I haven't forgotten, don't worry."

"Good. Then now we need to find supplies for the remainder of our trip and then get started again." Wesker looked away from Chris and at the helicopter once he'd spoken those words, narrowing a brow over an amber eye. He still wasn't wearing his shades in that moment, making it easy to see that an idea had just popped into his head which he commented on. "This helicopter may come in handy in clearing the path."

Chris furrowed his brows, giving Wesker an uncertain look before glancing back at the helicopter. "How's that?"

"Like I said before, I can push the bus out of the way, but it will take a little effort for me to do. Zombies are still roaming about the main road after the noise we made earlier however, which will hinder me and make it nearly impossible. But I noticed one of your companions carrying a very nice rifle with her when you retreated into the store."

Chris gave Wesker a somewhat confused look, but then it clicked. "You mean to go up into the helicopter and snipe from a rooftop position nearby to keep them off your back while you move the bus."

"Precisely."

Chris considered it. No one here was using the helicopter for certain, and it would make things much easier on them than standing in the roadway and trying to clear it out, not that Chris thought such a method would work at all. With a swarm that size, they'd get overrun pretty fast.

"There's not much for high roofing in this town," Wesker added as he looked about while Chris thought, "but a position over that store you retreated to earlier would suffice while I waited. Are there supplies inside of the store as well?"

"Yeah, it had plenty."

Wesker took that fact in to add to the equation, and finally summed it all up. "Then perhaps you should land the helicopter on the roof and send someone down to loot it. I would suggest Cecilia. She's swift and quiet I've noticed. I'll be drawing the zombies attention, so even with a busted window, there should be a good amount of time for her to get what we need with little to no problem. Or perhaps you can attain something from the survivors here, which would obliterate that need completely."

"I'm not taking these people's supplies, Wesker. Not that I expect you to understand that."

"Beggar's can't be choosers, Chris, not in a world like this," Wesker countered. "You should know that better than anyone. Either you take the chance of stocking up at the store, or you get supplies from the people who have already brought things here. The clock is ticking in either case. I'll be waiting at the store for your arrival in the meantime."

Wesker turned and began walking off once he'd informed Chris of that, and Chris watched him going. Chris tried to remind himself why he was letting this asshole tag along without trying to kill him, and the memory of what Wesker knew popped back into his head again.

After a moment, he asked the retreating figure, "Why didn't you kill her, Wesker? Why save her life at all when you found out she wasn't dead after the landing?"

Jill, Wesker thought when he heard the question, and came to a stop. Without turning around to face Chris again, he simply said, "She was of more value alive than dead, just as you are now."

"How? She was just as much a thorn in your side as I am. It should've been an easy kill for you."

"Correction," Wesker replied, turning to face him finally. "She could be _used_ to draw _you_ in. That was my original plan. As much as I'd do better with her gone, I couldn't ignore the possibility that she could be used to kill two birds with one stone."

Chris realized he shouldn't have asked. He was only getting more and more angry with each answer. Then Wesker only made it worse by adding, "Besides, without the ability to walk or even remember her former identity, I doubt she'll be picking up her old habits. Confining her to a life of disability is the same as allowing her to die. She won't be a bother to me again."

"You son of a," Chris started, then stopped himself because saying it wasn't going to change anything, and it wouldn't even make him feel any better.

"You asked," Wesker reminded him. "So don't direct anger at me for doing precisely what you knew I would do to begin with. Why don't you put that anger toward something more constructive, like getting everyone back together so we can leave. The sooner we reach Dallas, the sooner this can all come to a much desired conclusion."

Chris let him go after he said that. After a moment of silence on the rooftop, he sighed with a gruff draw of breath and began walking to the hatch that led down into the building, muttering out in a fake accent that was meant to mock Wesker's, "_Much desired conclusion_," and then added, "fucking understatement of the century, asshole."


	23. Promises

_Chapter 22 - Promises_

_ December 2nd, 2007_

_ Santa Rosa, New Mexico_

_12:03 PM_

"Nope, I don't know who my daddy is."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"My mama never told me about him and I never met him. I always wanted to think he was good with music though, like Clyde. Or maybe he's good at something else I don't know about."

"So what would you do if I was your dad?"

"That'd be so cool! You could teach me to shoot and stuff. I could help take out the monsters and protect my mama. Did you know your dad?"

The conversation started to get a little hazy at that question. Shannon opened her eyes slowly while laying on the bench in the cafeteria against the wall after having a dream about talking to Chris in the very same room, but it was daytime and the kids were around while they'd been sitting at a table playing a game of cards. Shannon wasn't sure, but she thought they were playing poker in the dream, something she'd learned from Clyde who'd spent so much of his youth at the tables in his hometown of Las Vegas. She always had fun with the cards whenever he played, and liked to shuffle them for him, eventually becoming pretty good at it for an eight year old.

She woke to realize that it was still night time though, and also that her mother had moved her because Regan was right in her line of sight, standing close to the buffet line which was now turned off while talking to Megan and Cecilia quietly. There were two children in the room too, even though it was probably very late. But Shannon had no idea what time it was now or how long she'd slept, and figured that maybe those kids just couldn't sleep either.

Silently, the little girl looked across the tables in the room while scanning the faces present and noticed no one else was there but the three women and two children. Briefly, after the dream she'd had, she wondered what might've happened to Chris. With reality settling into her head more, she remembered that they _had_ been playing poker in her dream, and it was almost like she was with Clyde again, but he was Chris instead. _That was weird. I wonder if Chris knows how to play poker? I'll have to ask him._

She didn't make a sound or let her mother know she was awake as she had the thoughts. Slowly, Shannon began to sit up, taking a slow breath and yawning. She thought about where they were for a moment and how far they'd come to get there, wondering if they'd be staying or not. It was hard to say. Shannon wasn't old enough to know too much about it, but she figured the hummer still worked, it was just surrounded by monsters probably. That was a scary thought though, and she pushed it out of her head.

The effort didn't take much however as she got distracted, looking to the side when she thought she saw something, realizing a boarded up window was about five feet away from where she'd been settled. There was very dim light coming in through the slats the wooden boards nailed across it made, and Shannon tilted her head slowly, watching them closely. She couldn't shake the feeling she'd just seen something there.

It was in that moment that she froze up completely when a shadow crossed over from the other side.

Shannon continued to sit still, staring at the window with wide eyes and deep breaths. She remembered the knife Cecilia had given her earlier which, on the way out of the hummer, she'd stuffed into the belt she wore around her jeans for safe keeping. With the fear she felt now, she grabbed the handle of it, but didn't pull it out of the leather sheath it was stored in.

Instead, when nothing else happened, Shannon slowly scooted closer to the window after a moment or two of hesitation, quiet in her movements, and worked her way onto her knees. As she did, she lifted her face somewhat close to the boards and peered through the slats more easily in that position, tentative in her scanning of the outside area as she started looking to see if anyone was there. She hoped it wasn't any_thing_, and tried to remind herself not to scream if she _did_ see something.

She saw a basketball court next to the school though, empty and lifeless, and beyond that was another road on the other side of a fence where some houses were located. The dim light coming in through the slats illuminated her green eyes as she watched, nothing moving in the lightly foggy night, and not a single sound there to be heard.

A hand landed gently on her shoulder just as her name was spoken, but because the girl had been so intent on looking outside, she gasped and jumped. Glancing up quickly, Shannon saw Cecilia standing there with a curious expression on her face, and she let out a deep breath, grabbing her chest.

"Oh my word!," Shannon groaned out softly.

The former cop looked apologetic if not amused over the statement. "Sorry," she told the child, then asked, "I didn't mean to startle you. But what were you looking at?"

"I...," Shannon hesitated. Finally, she admitted on a soft whisper, "I thought I saw a shadow moving across the window."

Cecilia's brows narrowed. The woman didn't seem to take Shannon's admission as being just the overworking imagination of a child, which Shannon was grateful for, and she told the little girl to scoot over. Shannon did that and watched the former police officer checking the scenery for herself.

A moment passed, and finally Cecilia shook her head. There was a single dim light coming from a nearby street lamp that was burning low, which was how they could both see anything in the darkness to begin with, and Cecilia told Shannon, "There's nothing out there, at least, not now. Maybe one of the men here went outside for something," she added just to calm the girl's worry alone, though she herself wasn't going to take that idea as a certainty.

Still, she cast a little smile down at the eight year old. "Best stay away from the windows anyway, just incase, and tell someone instead of looking if you see something, alright?"

Shannon gave her a nod. As Cecilia stood up, Shannon also turned and climbed off of the bench, walking with her and to where her mother stood not too far away now. When Regan looked and reached out her hand, Shannon took it and listened as her mother asked, "Did you sleep okay?"

Shannon shrugged her shoulders. "I guess," she told her mother flatly, then added, "I got a crick in my neck from that bench though."

"Sorry Squirt," Regan apologized softly. "You were putting my leg to sleep so I had to move you."

"It's okay, mama, I didn't even know I fell asleep." Then she hesitated and admitted, "But um...I really need to _go_, you know," and in order to accentuate the words, she bobbed her hips just a bit from side to side.

Megan smirked over the confession, saying, "Come on, bathroom's right around the corner. I'll show you the way." She turned to lead them off, but then stopped when she heard her name.

"Megan?"

Megan looked back at one of the two children in the room, a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was about Shannon's age, maybe a slight bit younger, and she asked, "When you come back, can I help you check on everyone before I go back to bed?"

"We'll see, Cathy," Megan replied with a smile on her face, then she motioned at Shannon and Regan, leading them to the bathroom. Shannon watched the girl named Cathy on the way out, who seemed to be watching her in turn. There was something sad on her face, and Shannon couldn't help but narrow her brows curiously over the look as she walked along with her hand in her mother's.

Megan didn't follow them into the bathroom once they arrived, only handed Regan a flashlight and then went back to the cafeteria. Regan let her go and stepped inside with Shannon, checking the inside of the room out no matter how well boarded up the school had been. Regan knew that being too careful in this world was never a bad thing, and maybe it looked paranoid, but she'd rather look paranoid than be dead.

Once everything checked out clearly, Regan turned and gave Shannon the flashlight so she could go and use a stall. Shannon didn't waste time and went to one of the doors and pushed it open, checking out the inside out which made Regan grin behind her. She stayed quiet though while Shannon set the flashlight on the floor so it would shine upwards toward the ceiling, and then shut the door and began to take care of business.

Regan waited patiently, wondering briefly how well Shannon might've slept even though it hadn't been very long in any case. But after a moment of silence, her thoughts were interrupted when she heard from inside of the stall, "Mama! Someone wrote a dirty word in here!"

Regan snorted, then said, "Well don't say it out loud."

"I won't. But I don't get it."

Regan wasn't sure she should ask. Still, she took a chance. "Don't get what?"

"It says for a good time, call Rita Al," Shannon stopped, trying to pronounce the word while Regan pressed her hand over her eyes, already knowing where this was going as her daughter finished reading the last name. "Al...var...Alvarez, yeah. There's a phone number too."

"It's just the kids that went to school here being silly, Squirt, that's all. Writing on the walls in the bathroom was against the rules the last I heard."

"Yeah, Mr. Webber got _real_ mad one time when Lilly wrote on her desk. Pencils are for paper, that's what he said."

"He's right, unless it's an emergency I suppose," Regan replied with a shrug and then heard the toilet flushing. After a moment, the door opened back up and the little girl walked right over to the sink and found the soap, then started washing her hands.

As she did this, Shannon watched the water rinsing the suds from her fingers and down into the sink, and she asked, "Mama, Chris doesn't wanna stay here, does he?"

Regan shook her head. "No, I don't think he can, Squirt. He has to get to Dallas, why?"

"I was just wondering. The people here are nice but...it's a school. I don't know how much I'd want to live in a school." She said that as she reached and turned the water off, then looked over at Regan and grabbed some paper towels to dry her hands.

"Yeah, I know whatcha mean," Regan grinned. "And hey, when someone gets to Dallas, they can send someone else back and get the people here, right?"

"Yeah!," Shannon nodded as if she hadn't thought of that yet. "It's a good thing we found this place!" Standing back from the sink, she asked then, "Where did Chris go anyway?"

"Up on the roof the last I checked. Alonzo said there was a helicopter up there."

"A helicopter? Does that mean we can fly to Dallas?"

There was a definite excitement in Shannon's voice, and Regan hoped the child wasn't let down. "I don't know. Chris said he knows how to fly one, so maybe it does, but we'll have to wait and see. The helicopter might not have enough fuel."

Shannon pursed her lips at her mother. "They don't use the same thing as cars, do they?"

"Nope, sadly they don't," Regan confirmed easily.

"Man," Shannon drew out dejectedly, making Regan snicker softly when she next said, "it's always something." The girl then grabbed the flashlight, threw the towels in the trash before she walked over to her mother, and took her freehand while giving the flashlight back with the other. As they headed to the door however, Shannon suddenly came to a stop, and that got Regan's attention.

Looking down, Regan narrowed her brows and asked, "What's wrong, Shannon?"

Shannon had a curious look on her face as if, now that she had her mother alone for a minute, she wanted to asked her something important. "I...," she started, then shook her head. "It's nothing. I just had a dream."

"When you were asleep just now?"

"Yeah. But it was a good dream. Well, it was weird, but good."

"Weird's definitely better than bad," Regan agreed, turning a little to face her daughter more. "What was it about?"

"Um," Shannon pursed her lips. She seemed reluctant, and it only pricked Regan's curiosity. "Promise you won't tell, okay?"

"You know I wouldn't tell on you, Squirt. What's up?" Seeing this might take a minute, Regan knelt down to make it easier for Shannon to speak with her.

When she did, Shannon shrugged and said, "I dreamt that, well, I was playing poker with Chris at a table in the cafeteria. Like I said, it was weird, like he was Clyde, but not Clyde."

Regan knew all about Clyde's love of card games and his youth in Las Vegas where he met a lounge singer named Linda who he married and moved to Chicago with, and why Shannon would think that, staying silent to let her daughter continue with the story.

"I don't know why," she added, letting out a sigh of breath. "But we were talking in the dream, and I was wondering about something, mama. Clyde and Linda never said anything. They said you should be the one to tell me because it would come from you better."

Regan wasn't entirely sure where this was going, asking her, "The dream made you think of something like this?"

"Yeah, because of what me and...I mean Chris and I were talking about. I was telling him about my real daddy. Not Clyde, you know. I was telling him that I didn't know who my daddy is and stuff."

A feeling of dread hit the pit of Regan's stomach and like clockwork, Shannon asked her, "Who _is_ my real daddy? Why didn't he come back to get me like you did?"

Letting out a sigh of breath, Regan could easily understand why Clyde and Linda wouldn't tell Shannon the truth over that story. Shannon hadn't even had the "birds and the bees" talk yet, so she definitely wouldn't understand what date rape was and why her real father was never there. She also knew this day was coming, she just hoped it wouldn't be until _after_ Shannon had "the talk", could understand it, and was then patient enough to wait for the answer until, well, she'd forgotten she'd asked the question.

Regan just didn't ever want to tell Shannon that she'd been the product of a rape. Regan herself didn't even see that anymore, but telling Shannon would cause some trauma, wouldn't it? It was possible anyway, Regan felt, and she was glad that she'd been able to put the violation behind her enough that she no longer thought of it at all with her daughter.

Sometimes, after Shannon had been born, she thought of who the baby's father was and what had happened altogether would pop back into Regan's head, which had been troublesome. But now, all she saw was a child that belonged to her, had no father at all, and even though there were some facial differences from her own, Regan thought of them as such instead of as "similarities to Matt's face". Shannon's face was just Shannon's face, and Regan didn't see Matt anywhere in her at all.

Sadly though, Shannon had asked the question now. Regan just hoped she could take a roundabout answer because it was all she had at the moment.

"That's a really hard question to answer, Squirt," Regan said, exhaling loudly as if to prepare herself for it. "There was a lot of stuff that happened with your...," she refrained from using the word "real" because Matt was as about as real of a father as Regan was actually the Pope. Instead, she just said, "Biological father that kept him from being around."

"Like what? He didn't want me like grandma and grandpa?"

Shannon knew a little about Regan's parents and how they weren't interested in her. She'd been told that her grandparents couldn't afford her at first, and the few times Shannon had been around them as a toddler, they hadn't even wanted to hold her. That settled well with Regan though, who didn't think Shannon needed to have anything to do with them. But Regan told her the truth when she'd gotten older by saying that her grandparents thought Regan was too young to have her and raise her, so they made her give Shannon to someone who could, plain and simple.

Shannon didn't agree with that though, thinking that any mama should have her baby with her. In fact, she still couldn't figure out _why_ her grandparents had done that, but decided simply that they just hadn't wanted her at all. So she listened intently now when Regan attempted to give her a little explanation on whether or not her father had wanted her either.

"I don't know honestly, Squirt. But I _do_ know he was young too, and he wasn't very smart being so young, and that it wasn't planned out."

"Will I ever meet him?," Shannon asked. "Or...I mean, if everything was still okay, would I have?"

Regan was silent for a moment to make sure she had her words right in her head. Then she took in a slow breath and looked Shannon square in the eyes and said, "I'll be honest with you, Shannon, I wouldn't want you to ever meet him. I can't say that I like him at all, and he lied a lot, made dumb decisions, and it caused me a lot of pain and problems. Honestly, if I could help it, no, I wouldn't _want_ you to meet him. Not until you were older and understood everything and could make the decision for yourself with all of the facts right in your head. But you'll have to trust me for now when I say it just wouldn't have really been possible for you to have been around him at all."

Shannon watched her mother for a moment, letting her words sink in. Slowly, her lips pursed as she figured out what Regan was telling her exactly, and finally asked another question. "Did you love him?"

Regan let a groan out. "At one time I thought I did, and maybe it was true back then. But after he hurt me and didn't...well, all I can tell you is that when he found out about you, he didn't offer anything."

"So he kind of abandoned us both then."

"That's one way to put it," Regan nodded, and she couldn't say it wasn't true. Matt lied about forcing himself on her, and that was tantamount to abandoning them in a sense. He sure as hell never apologized or attempted to talk to Regan again after that, not that she wanted him to. But she kept her mind focused on the present when Shannon made another comment.

"Then I...just never really had a daddy, did I?"

That somehow hurt and Regan wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because she felt like the words she'd spoken said that her mother couldn't provide everything she wished she could for Shannon by herself even though she wanted to, and Regan had to consider it as a possibility, otherwise she might _really_ fail her child.

But no matter the case for the way the words hurt though, she nodded her head in contrary to what Shannon had suggested, informing her, "Yes you did, you had Clyde. He was your daddy, and he loved you very much."

Finally, Shannon smiled over the memory of her foster parent who was very close to the youngster, just like a father should be. Shannon knew that was true, and it made her feel better to think about, but all too soon, her knowledge turned into curiosity again. "Yep, he was a good daddy. But...can I ask what the other one's name was at least?"

Regan wished she could tell Shannon she'd forgotten what it was. She knew that one day she could tell the girl everything she wanted to know and then some, but that wasn't today. Shannon was just too young still to let it all out of the bag, and hell, if Regan had it her way, she'd never mention the lousy asshole ever again. She shook her head at her daughter and opened her mouth to speak with those thoughts in mind when a knock came to the bathroom door and stopped her.

It was Chris's voice that ciphered through the closed portal, asking, "Regan? You in there?"

_Saved by the bell_, Regan thought to herself, replying, "Yeah, we're in here."

"Meet me in that stock room where we came in when you're done then. I've got an idea, and we all need to discuss it."

"Alright," she replied, then stood up. Shannon watched her, taking her hand again as Regan said, "Come on, let's go talk with Chris and Cecilia and see what he's got in mind, okay? We can discuss this more later."

Shannon nodded in agreement. She was eager to see what was going on as well, and decided to let the conversation go for now.

The door opened, and the two of them stepped out into the blue and gold painted hallway together. Before they could get far, Shannon stopped briefly when she heard a voice and looked back to see the little girl named Cathy who'd asked Megan to help her check on everyone earlier standing near the wall not too far away.

"I heard you're leaving."

Regan stopped because Shannon did, and saw her daughter giving the blonde girl a nod of her head. "I think we are. I don't know for sure though."

"I wish I could," Cathy replied. She held a teddy bear in her arms, and was wearing a plain white shirt and a pair of jeans with blue tennis shoes on, and she looked down at the floor, her next words soft and quiet. "I miss my mama, I don't know what happened to her, but she might be hiding somewhere like us. You're lucky you still have yours with you."

Shannon frowned in response to the story, watching the plainly dressed little girl standing there quietly for a moment. She looked down at herself in the purple and black striped top she wore beneath a denim jacket matching the jeans she had on her legs, her feet in a pair of worn sneakers that were holding up but dirty now, and then at her mama who was indeed right there with her. When she did, she realized she was actually very fortunate like Cathy had just told her she was, and she hadn't even thought about how much so before then.

So Shannon looked up at her mother and pulled her hand out of her grasp for a moment. Regan let it go and watched her daughter turning to run over to the little girl. Once there, she didn't hesitate and just gave the blonde a warm hug, the sight of which brought a smile to Regan's face.

"I lost my foster mama and daddy, and my big brother too. I'm sorry," Shannon told Cathy sympathetically. After a moment, she stood back and pursed her lips in thought, then snapped her fingers, "Oh crap! I forgot about something."

"What?," Cathy asked curiously, watching the red haired child fishing through the pockets of the denim jacket she wore. Finally, Shannon tugged out a ring she'd had in her jacket pocket for a while now, but kept forgetting was there.

"Here," she started, holding the silver ring which had a fake, oval shaped stone in the center that was pink in color, surrounded with smaller white ones.

"What's this?," Cathy asked her, taking the ring to look at it.

"Well, it's nothing special. It's fake, you can tell because the silver paint's chipping off, but I found it on the road after me and mama left Rapid City when I was hiding so my mama could check out a car for us. I thought I should give it to her as a gift sometime, but I forgot to do it because a lot of stuff happened not long after that. It's been in my pocket ever since cause we had to run away real fast."

"You should give it to her then," Cathy said, still holding the ring in her hand.

Shannon started shaking her head at Cathy. "Nah, I'll give her something else. You should keep it to remind you that if we go, I know Chris will send someone back here to find everyone and take them somewhere safe."

Cathy looked back over at Shannon, asking, "You mean that really tall guy with you?"

"Yeah, him. He's like a soldier or something, I think...wait...," Shannon drew a blank for a moment, not sure if Chris was a soldier precisely or something more like a police officer, or what the difference might've been to begin with. After a moment, she shrugged and waved a hand while saying, "Anyway, I know he's trained, and I know he can send someone here to get you all."

"There's a helicopter on the roof I heard the people around here talking about, but no one knows how to fly it. Is that how he's going to leave? Cause he knows how to?"

"Yeah, mama told me he does. We might be using that to go. If so, then we'll be back for you _real_ soon."

Cathy smiled finally, and she looked down at the ring and turned it in her hand, then slipped it onto her fingers until she found one it fit on, which ended up being her right index finger, though it was still slightly too big. Shannon grinned though as the girl admired it and began to nod her head. "It doesn't matter if it's not real, it's still pretty. I like the colors. Thank you."

"You're welcome. If it's too big, you can wrap some tape around one side."

"Yeah, I think I will so I don't lose it." Cathy then looked at Shannon and asked her, "Will you be in Dallas too?"

"Yep, hey!," Shannon suddenly pointed out. "Maybe you can come see us when you get there! That'd be cool anyway. Do you like playing video games?"

"Yeah," Cathy admitted sheepishly as if maybe she shouldn't have, still smiling. "Well, I hope you guys get there fast then. It's scary out there."

Right after she said those words, Cathy turned her head and started coughing into her hand, and Shannon narrowed her brows at her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Cathy replied and cleared her throat. Then she smiled at Shannon again to prove it, and gave her another hug. It was obvious the child was alone, and probably had been for a while now, so she really appreciated the kindness that Shannon had just shown her. "Thank you."

"It's all gravy," Shannon told her with a grin, turning around after the hug was over with to head back to her mother. Regan took her hand and patted it with a smile on her face as Shannon waved back at Cathy on the way down the hall. "See you later, Cathy!"

"Bye, Shannon!"

Regan couldn't help but think that was one of the cutest things she'd seen in weeks now. As they went, she asked her daughter, "Where did you get that ring at again?"

"You remember that _real long_ scary highway we had to walk down with the cars parked everywhere because the station wagon broke down? The one right before we got to the farmhouse?"

Regan would never forget that damned highway. "Right," she replied instead of mentioning her not-so-fond memories of it.

"I found it on the road when you told me to hide between some cars. I kept forgetting I had it though because of everything going on."

Regan smiled. She'd been checking out a car at the time in order to see whether or not it could be possibly be highjacked, but there was a body in the backseat, one that animated and at up into her view when she'd been quietly inching toward the open backdoor. That started a long series of events that had led them to the countryside farmhouse where Chris had found them.

Instead of mentioning the frightful moments though, she told Shannon, "It was sweet of you to give it to her. Hopefully it'll make her feel a little better."

"Yeah, I hope so too," Shannon nodded, smiling back up at her mother who patted the back of her red head of hair. "I mean, if we got sep—," Shannon stopped as if she didn't even want to think about it. "I mean, you know, Cathy could be...," she trailed again. Finally, she sighed out a breath. "Nevermind, I don't wanna say it."

Regan couldn't help but completely understand, putting an arm over Shannon's shoulders in a silent promise that they would stick together as they both reached the stockroom where she took the knob into her hand and pushed the door open. It was the same room where they'd first entered the school, and Cecilia was already in there with Chris. Travis was there as well, speaking as they walked in, and Shannon didn't like what she heard coming from him.

"I still don't like the idea of you taking that little girl back out there, man. Not with all the danger there is."

Chris was pulling the strap of his shotgun over his shoulders as if preparing to leave already, and he looked over when the door opened and Regan came into the room with Shannon, holding her hand as they walked over.

Since Travis didn't like the idea, and Chris knew that Regan and Shannon might be safer here than on the road with them—though that was also up in the air as far as he was concerned—he said to the three of them, which included Cecilia, "Good, now that you're here, we can talk. I have an idea for us to get out of here and continue on to Dallas where I can tell them there's survivors here. But neither one of you have to come with me. It's safe here, there's a good bit of man power, and they're pretty well organized. I took a look around myself to make sure no one had missed anything important, and it looks like the place is pretty well fortified."

After Chris told them that, he went on to say, "So I could go on alone, and tell Dallas when I get there that a team needs to be sent out here for the survivors, and you guys would be brought to Dallas later."

Regan's brows narrowed, but before she could speak, Cecilia asked without hesitation, "You said the chopper didn't have enough fuel in it to fly to Dallas though, right?"

"Right. But I have a plan to use it to get back to the hummer."

Cecilia gave a nod of her head and said on a plain and serious tone of voice, "I'm going with you no matter what. I'd rather there be more of a chance of someone getting to Dallas to let them know there's survivors here than have one person go and never make it."

Chris liked her logic, though he worried about Regan and Shannon. A part of him was wondering if the man might have been right about them, especially Shannon. If something happened to her on the road, well, he didn't want to consider that. No matter what he thought though, he was about to get her input on the idea. Shannon was the next to speak, and she let go of Regan's hand and walked over to Chris to do it.

Looking up at him with a sorrowful expression on her face, she asked, "You're not trying to get rid of us, are you?"

Somehow, the question cut deeper into Chris than he thought it would have, and even though finding safety here was a good thing, another part of him thought that the idea of leaving Shannon where he couldn't watch her himself felt foreign to him. He couldn't help it, and would admit that no, he didn't trust anyone to be able to watch her better than he could with the things he knew. Well, except for her mother perhaps.

That's when the thought that she needed him hit her, and he remembered what Regan told him, that you fell in love because you knew they _needed_ you. There was definitely something that had hit his gut when she'd asked him her question that he couldn't ignore, some need to make sure she was safe urging him to do just that because he knew she needed him to.

Shannon had just gotten under his skin, and Chris couldn't say he minded it.

Chris shook his head at the girl when he had the thought, getting down on a knee in front of her so he could try to make sure she understood exactly why he was saying this. "No, Shannon. I'm not trying to get rid of you at all. I was just thinking that I could reach Dallas while you were here safe, and then come back to get you."

Shannon was quiet for a moment, thinking about that. Everything they'd been through, and how hard they'd tried in order to make it this far. She couldn't help it. The thought of being left behind while he and Cecilia moved on just felt like being abandoned to her somehow, and it scared her enough to make her angry. Thinking about the conversation she'd had with her mother earlier didn't help matters either.

Suddenly her brows narrowed at Chris as she exclaimed, "No! You can't just leave us!" She shook her head at him, and though she was angry, it was pretty plain to see she was about to start crying. "Not after everything we did to get this far together! Mama!," she started, turning her head up toward Regan as if her mother was her one chance to make this all work.

"Tell him we can't let him go by himself! He doesn't even have Dutch anymore! If something happened to him, we wouldn't ever know it! Tell him I don't want to be...," and the tears began to fall before she lowered her head and sniffled, wiping her eyes.

She couldn't help but see herself as Cathy, standing in a hallway without a mother or father, or anyone she loved with her anymore at all. She remembered Clyde and Linda were gone, and they hadn't found any signs of Tommy which was her foster brother. Nothing was right anymore, and Shannon was scared that if Chris left now, that's exactly where she would end up—waiting somewhere alone without knowing what would happen next.

Chris watched her quietly as she finally and slowly turned her face back toward him, lifting her dark green eyes up to look at him before whispering softly, "I don't want you to leave us. I'm scared we'll never see you again. More scared of that than the monsters outside."

She moved in suddenly and hugged Chris tightly, whispering somewhat desperately, "Please, Chris. I wanna go with you. I don't care what's out there. I can be quiet, and I listen."

Chris couldn't help but hug her back, his expression a little pained as well as surprised because of how much she wanted them all to stick together. Regan had to bite her lip because the sight was about to make her cry. Seeing her daughter reacting that way was basically kicking her right in the emotional balls for all it was worth. So, shaking her head, she said how she felt while her daughter was showing her heart.

"Maybe it would be better for us here, but safety isn't guaranteed anywhere, and besides, I owe you my life Chris. More importantly, I owe you my daughter's life. I know dragging Shannon out there is dangerous, but who knows what could happen if we stay here too? I think we all need to stick together like we have been. There's strength in numbers, and like Cecilia said, a better chance for these people to get out if we all go, instead of waiting. You're skilled Chris, but even you might not make it there by yourself, or just you and Cecilia. So we're going."

Travis watched this, able to tell that this was more than just people sticking together for survival. They seemed more like a family instead, and it was obvious that Shannon looked up to them all in such a way. Still, he asked, "Alright but, you sure about that, Shannon? I mean completely sure?"

Shannon stood back and away from Chris, looking over and up at the man as she replied, "I wouldn't say it if I wasn't sure. Chris can take care of us, and we can help him too. That's how it's always been so far, and we've come a long way."

Smiling at how she'd said that, Chris sat back knowing that the decision had apparently been made. Standing up straight, he said, "Then we need to get going." Once that was announced, he looked back down at Shannon and added, "You know what that means?"

Shannon gave him a nod and said, "Stay quiet, stay close where you can see me, listen to orders, and be quick. Don't worry, it's scary but I got this."

Travis couldn't help himself from grinning and letting out a little chuckle because of how she said that. Chris gave her a thumbs up for it and she grinned back up at him and then returned the gesture cutely.

Cecilia and Regan both smirked, then listened when Chris told Travis next, "I need to talk to them for a minute about my idea, then we'll head up to the roof. That's where Alonzo went, right?"

"Yeah, they went up there, but let me ask one last thing," Travis started. "Why not wait until morning at least, when it's daylight out?"

Chris thought about that, and suddenly something clicked in his head, something he realized he hadn't told Regan about yet, and that was the tyrant chasing them down. He remembered mentioning it to her briefly, but he hadn't given her any detail, and he was pretty sure she didn't know what a tyrant was.

Still, Chris knew that now wasn't the time to bring it up to her, even if she'd made this decision without all of the facts. He'd just have to tell her when they were alone—that was, without Shannon in specific. There wasn't any need to frighten the child unnecessarily with that kind of information, and he'd have to tell her before they got on the chopper.

For now however, he told Travis, "There's a good reason for it, Travis, it's just something I couldn't explain easily. The sooner we can get on the road, the better."

Travis gave him a slightly curious look, though he didn't seem to be completely bothered by it. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining," he shook his head. "After all, the sooner you guys get to Dallas, the sooner we might, right? Just thought I'd ask. Anyway, let me give Shannon something before I go upstairs."

Travis turned around and went to a trunk in the room, opening the lid and searching through it. After a moment, he pulled out a normal school style backpack that was blue and black along with a light blue bicycle helmet, then turned and walked back over to them, kneeling down in front of Shannon.

First he held out the helmet and said, "Here, it's just a bike helmet, nothing heavy duty, I know, but you never know when it might come in handy, right?"

Shannon took the helmet and looked it over, saying, "Cool color, I like it." She lifted it and put it on her head, and Travis grinned at her as she strapped it on.

Once she was done, he held up the backpack and said, "This is empty, but I figured it might be helpful for carrying things if you ever needed it."

"Thanks, Travis." Shannon smiled, and she took the backpack and slipped it onto her arms. It probably _would_ come in handy, and she was glad he'd thought of it.

"You're welcome, little miss," Travis replied with a smirk on his face, then stood up straight and looked back at the adults. "I'll let Alonzo know you guys are getting ready. I think he and Megan said something about giving you some things to help out. We'll meet you up on the roof."

"Okay," Chris confirmed to him, then watched the man as he turned to leave. Once he was gone and the door was shut, Chris looked over at Regan and Cecilia.

The latter of the two women asked before he could say a word, "So, what's the idea?"

"Wesker came to the rooftop when I was up there with the helicopter alone," Chris began. "He told me he can move the bus out of the hummer's way, but the zombies out there are going to be a problem for him."

"He can move a bus?," Shannon asked, sounding incredulous.

"Yeah, Shannon, trust me, it's complicated." When Shannon nodded up at him, Chris looked back over at the ladies and said, "The idea is to take the chopper up and land it on the roof of the store we all retreated to. While we're there, Regan, you'll snipe the zombies to keep them off of Wesker's back while he draws them away from the store. Cecilia, once he's doing that, he suggested you go down into the store and loot whatever you can to help us get to Dallas. I don't know if I agree with that idea personally, but it's up to you."

Cecilia thought about it for a moment, then she nodded, "If their attention is on him and he's drawing them away, it shouldn't be a problem. If things go well enough, I might even be able to get in the hummer and start it so she's ready to go whenever Wesker gets the bus out of the way. But that's something to tackle if it comes up."

Chris didn't argue with her just then because there would be no point in it. For now, he just looked over at Regan and asked her, "Do you think you can handle that?"

"Yeah, it sounds simple enough, and that store should give a good range for shooting."

"Right. But here's a tip you probably haven't thought of," he told Regan, trying to make sure they'd be as prepared for this as possible. "If you wanna conserve ammo, whatever you do, don't waste it on easy targets. Focus your sights on the ones that are the biggest, most immediate threats. That's the best way to survive something like this."

Regan ran that through her head, then she gave a nod. "Alright, I think I can manage that." She then looked at Cecilia who seemed to be completely ready, which made Regan wish she had the woman's cool confidence, or at least, could exude such an aura as that more often than not. When Cecilia gave her a silent nod, Regan looked down at Shannon and lifted a brow. Shannon smiled and gave her a thumbs up, making Regan smile at her.

Finally, she looked back at Chris and said, "Alright, it sounds like the best idea we have of any when it comes to getting out of here. We'll just have to keep on our toes and watch each other's backs."

"Right, and if it doesn't work, we can use the chopper to get somewhere safe for a while. She doesn't have enough fuel to get far, but she should have enough to at least get us to a safer area until we can figure out some kind of back up."

"Why not just fly her back here?," Cecilia asked before she suddenly figured it out on her own, saying, "Unless you think the noise might draw them to the school."

"Exactly. I'm already risking it by taking off from here, but hopefully they won't just start wandering in this direction once we're moving, and instead, head for the store and away from this place toward the noise if they move at all."

"Alright," Regan started. "We've got a plan then and we know what we need to do. We should get started on it."

Seeing both the women were ready now, Chris gave a nod of his head. "Then you should go grab your things from the cafeteria." Following those words, he looked down and asked, "You ready, Shannon?"

"I'm ready," she nodded, then looked up at Chris and added, "and by the way, Chris."

"Yeah?"

"Call me Squirt."

Chris grinned, and heard Cecilia snicker softly. Shannon gave her a look over the sound and asked, "What! It's what mama calls me, and I like it."

"What about Commander Squirt?," Cecilia asked with a smirk on her face. "That helmet makes you look like one."

"Ohhhh," Shannon drew out as if she hadn't thought of that. "Okay, that works, but _only_ when I'm wearing the helmet. Otherwise it's too much to say at once."

Regan chuckled over the suggestion, saying, "Alright, let's get our things ready." She turned to go to the door with Cecilia, and looked back to see Chris coming in behind them.

"I'll get Shannon up to the roof while you guys grab your things," he informed them as they moved along. "You guys know where the ladder is?"

"I don't," Regan replied.

"I do," Cecilia spoke in turn. "It's down the hallway and up the stairwell, behind that top door. I asked Megan just incase something happened down here and we needed to reach you quick while you were with Alonzo on the roof earlier."

Hearing this, Regan gave a nod and then told Chris and Shannon, "I'll be up with Cecilia in a minute then." Once she'd said that, she bent down to place a quick kiss on Shannon's forehead, then turned her own head to let Shannon kiss her cheek before the walked on to the cafeteria where the ladies had left most of their current belongings before the group split ways.

Shannon watched her mother and Cecilia disappearing while she moved on with Chris and looked around. Cathy wasn't there, so Shannon figured the girl had gone to bed already.

Looking ahead again, Shannon thought about what was going to be happening. It was a lot of complicated talk from the adults, but she knew they were going to fly back to where the hummer was, and start shooting monsters while Wesker moved the bus in their way—something Shannon still couldn't wrap her head around the thought of—so they could continue driving.

She would have to be careful and pay attention, she knew that much. She just hoped no one would get hurt in the meantime, and tried to remind herself that she was with Regan, Chris, and Cecilia, and they all knew what they were doing as far as she was concerned.

Shannon didn't think she could be in better hands, and hoped that things continued to stay that way in the future. She also hoped the promise she'd made to Cathy would come true. Was it a bad thing to promise people stuff when you weren't certain of the outcome?

Shannon wondered if she'd ever find out.


	24. Transit

_Chapter 23 - Transit_

_ December 3__rd__, 2007_

_ Santa Rosa, New Mexico_

_ 12:42 AM_

"I didn't mean to get so mad, Chris."

The phrase grabbed Chris's attention as he walked away with Shannon from the cafeteria in order to head upstairs. Looking down at the child with him, he asked her in return, "Mad about what?"

"About being left here," Shannon explained. She looked back up at him before she added, "I just didn't like the idea of staying, even if it is safe here for now. I mean, you know, we spread out, and it feels like we won't ever get back. There's a girl here named Cathy who said she couldn't find her mama, and she was all alone and scared, and I got scared too. I thought I might end up like her somewhere, or maybe even worse because she has people here to take care of her, and I might not, you know?"

The lines explained to Chris a good bit more about why Shannon had reacted the way she did to the suggestion of staying at the school while he and Cecilia left. He took it in, then drew in a deep breath and sighed it out slowly. "Yeah, I know what you mean, Shannon. Getting separated isn't ever a good thing in my experience."

Shannon was quiet for a second, then she said, "It's not just me though, it's my mama too. I worry about her, she always watches over me, but until you came along, there was no one to watch over her. So I feel like she's got someone to watch her back while she watches mine now."

Chris smiled. "That sounds like a good way to put it. I know you don't want anything to happen to her either."

"No way," Shannon shook her head vigorously as she said that. "I've only really gotten to be with her since I was six, and that sucks enough. I don't wanna...well, nevermind. I shouldn't say that without some wood to knock on."

She heard Chris letting a snort of amusement through his nose, and she suddenly grinned. After a moment, she looked up and added, "Also, I don't want you to leave us here because...," she trailed and gave Chris a distasteful expression before she said softly, "it's a _school_. I don't wanna live in a school. It'd be too weird."

Chris couldn't help but grin. At least, with Shannon along, things probably wouldn't be dull, he figured. Now he just had to tell Regan about the tyrant, and then he'd see what would really happen after that.

"Are you mad?," she asked as he had the thoughts.

Looking down, Chris furrowed his brows and told her, "No, why?"

"Just wanted to make sure," Shannon replied with a brief nod given that said she didn't think he was but was curious about it.

Chris smiled when she looked ahead again, and they made it to the double set of stairs at the end of the hallway at that point where he began to speak as they walked up. "Honestly, I didn't like the idea of leaving you behind even if I thought it would be safer. I don't trust myself sometimes, but I trust me better than anyone else to give you guys a better chance."

"Really?"

Chris nodded at her, looking down to see a little surprised expression on her face. "What? Don't believe me?"

"No, I believe you. I just wasn't sure, that's all. Oh! I need to tell you something too. When I woke up in the cafeteria, I thought I saw a shadow pass by outside the window. Me and Cecilia looked, but we didn't see anything. I just thought you might wanna know, you know, _incase_."

Chris hadn't been expecting such a line, briefly wondering for a few moments over the possibilities. When Shannon then said, "Cecilia thought it might be someone who had to go outside for something, so I don't know," and he got the feeling that Cecilia only said that to keep Shannon from worrying so much because Cecilia didn't seem to be the type to take things no faith like that. Chris knew because he didn't either.

"It might've been," Chris confirmed aloud despite his thoughts over the matter, but he had a bad feeling in hearing it, and felt it might be wise to tell Alonzo. Overall, Chris wished he had more time to spend there. He knew there wasn't anything urgently pressing on them to leave in that very moment, and hell, they probably could have waited until morning to go. But in the world they were trying to survive in, that kind of leisure was usually an illusion. Thinking you had the time for something was usually tantamount to getting yourself killed, or at least, that seemed to be the summary of Chris's experience in life.

He still questioned to this day how he'd managed to survive it all.

But there was one very good reason why he knew in this moment that the lack of urgency in the atmosphere was all a lie—the tyrant following Wesker. Even if it would only follow Wesker down and Wesker wasn't with them at the moment, as much as Chris hated to admit it, he'd rather see Wesker living for more reasons than one. It was a chance to get the man into the custody finally, get some possible answers, and though Chris knew better than to think Wesker would divulge information when he was there, he did know that he'd get Jill's location.

Wesker was a liar, and a damned good one, and Chris didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, but something told Chris that this time, things were different, and Wesker wasn't going to withhold the truth. Hell, he'd probably tell Chris just to hurt him by seeing Jill crippled and unable to walk, unable to even remember him, saying the condition she was in had remained the same. That was how Wesker worked. It wasn't just _kill for the sake of killing_, otherwise Chris might've died in Salida where they first found each other on this trip. No, Wesker would tell Chris where Jill was when they got to Dallas, Chris knew that much.

For a brief moment though, he gave pause to that thought. Wesker was telling the truth, Jill was alive somewhere, so wasn't that enough to know? Did Chris have to know her location and actually be reunited with her? The world's population had at least been cut in half if the cities were still quarantined, so would it be that hard to find her himself?

Softly, he let out a sigh of breath, considering that she wouldn't even remember him due to amnesia. Or maybe _that_ part was a lie, but the rest was true. Chris had absolutely no idea, and he knew he had no time to figure it out just then. For the moment, he had to go by what he knew, and he knew that the tyrant following them wasn't going to wait for him to make up his mind about anything. It needed to be led away from this town, away from these people as soon as possible, and so staying there was _not_ an option. Even letting Regan and Shannon come along because of the tyrant—which he still hadn't told Regan about yet—was a problem.

Chris had already made the decision that he was going to tell Regan about the monster following them before they got into the helicopter. It was only fair to let her know, and he felt badly for not telling her sooner. But hell, he couldn't blame himself completely. At least, not as far as the events that evening had gone. There had barely been time to talk about much of anything, and Chris had spent most of his time in the school looking around to be certain the men there had boarded it up well enough to make a real stand until help could arrive.

It was the least he could do while he waited for Shannon to get a little shut eye anyway, not that she was holding him back from taking action.

Then again, he thought, glancing down at the kid as they'd walked up the steps, maybe she had.

Once they reached the ladder at the top of the stairwell, Chris let his thoughts come to a stop and he asked Shannon if she'd rather climb up on her own, or if she needed a lift. The question got Alonzo's attention from above, and he looked down to tell them they they were all waiting.

Shannon stared up the ladder somewhat warily, then she took a deep breath and rubbed her hands together without answering Chris, which made him smirk. Getting a determined look on her face, she took the rungs into her hands and started, but then came to a stop once she was on the third one. This put her about even with Chris's height, and he watched her stopping before she looked over at him with a curious expression on her face.

"You'll be right behind me, right?"

"Of course," Chris nodded at her.

"Okay, good. Then I can do this. Just need a push the first time around." She said confidently, took a deep breath, and started climbing up higher. Chris couldn't help but grin when she wasn't looking. He took the rungs into his own hands once she was high enough up and then started in behind her, though he had to go a little slower than he might've normally gone because she was smaller and even if she'd climbed up faster, he wouldn't have been able to do so at his normal rate of speed. But he didn't mind as he was making sure to keep his eyes on her while she went anyway.

Once she got to the top, Alonzo helped her the rest of the way up, and just a moment afterwards, Chris had pulled himself onto the roof as well. As he stood up, Alonzo asked, "Where's the ladies?"

"They're coming, they went for their things in the cafeteria and are probably right behind me." Chris looked to see that Travis, Megan, and her boyfriend Maurice, who'd woken up not too long ago after a nap, were all up there. Martin was still with Enrique, and Maurice walked over to Chris and Alonzo.

Chris knew for a fact now that Wesker had been the one to hurt Maurice's cousin. When he'd woken up, he'd found out about Regan's story, and talked to Chris, giving him an exact description of the tyrant, shades and all. It was just a good thing Wesker wasn't here now, Chris thought, otherwise Maurice would probably try to get some kind of revenge, and things didn't need to get out of hand anymore than they already were.

As Maurice reached them, Chris noticed Alonzo holding out his hand, saying, "I managed to find what you asked me about earlier."

Chris glanced down into Alonzo's hand at the item he held in it, and took it, pulling up the flap of the pouch on his belt open in order to store it there for safe keeping with a nod of his head. "Thanks, they'll come in handy later, I'm pretty sure." Chris then looked over to see that Shannon was admiring the helicopter because she'd probably never been that close to one, so Chris told her, "Shannon, don't wander, alright?"

Shannon turned and gave him a thumbs up, not going any farther than she was from them at current, and Chris stepped in a bit closer to Alonzo with her affirmation so that he could relay what Shannon had mentioned to him earlier.

"Look, before I go, I wanted to give you some advice."

"Sure, _amigo_, what's that?," Alonzo replied, giving Chris his complete attention while Maurice also listened in.

"Shannon said she saw a shadow outside the window earlier, and you mentioned that you'd seen a monster with a long tongue before."

Alonzo nodded, paying close attention while Chris continued. "I don't want to alarm you, but those things can climb walls, and there's a chance that it could be what Shannon saw outside. So even being up here, we have to keep our eyes open. Be extremely careful," he added seriously, looking from Alonzo to Maurice and back again as the two men seemed to both go into a more aware-of-their-surroundings mode than they had been previously.

Chris didn't let that stop him though, further explaining, "They're sneaky bastards, like to come in through vents and other small places, so you have to make sure you lock up tight, watch the ceilings and the walls. When she mentioned the shadow, that was all I could think of. But there's good news to this too."

"What's that?"

Alonzo was taking it all seriously, much to Chris's relief, and he gave the man a tip for beating the Lickers that he was afraid could be lurking in this town. "They're completely blind. Don't underestimate them though. They're fast and they can hear really well, but they can't see a damned thing. It's the best weakness to use against them. Most times when you run into one, it's already been listening because like I said, they like laying in wait for someone to make a sound, but if you _do_ happen to notice one, and it actually isn't moving to attack you, chances could be good it doesn't know you're there. Be extremely silent and still in that case, and _don't_ call for help if you're alone."

Chris told him the last part pointedly, then finished his advice with the words, "Just shoot instead. If you miss, _then_ move and get some space between you. That tongue has a good reach on it."

"Alright, we'll keep that in mind," Alonzo nodded, and neither man noticed, but Shannon wasn't completely paying attention to the helicopter. She'd heard every word Chris had said when she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked back in the other direction at Megan who'd just stepped over to her.

"What's wrong, _chica_? You okay?"

"Yep, I'm good," Shannon nodded in response. "Travis gave me a helmet and a backpack to carry stuff in it. I also have that candy to eat on the way to Dallas. Sorry I didn't eat anything else though."

Megan smiled. "It's okay. You sure you're not hungry?"

"Lady, I just saw a woman missing half of her face before we came in here." Shannon shook her head. "Trust me, I'm good."

Though morbid, Megan couldn't help an amused snort of breath over the line. Regan had said the girl was spunky, and Megan was starting to see that. Maybe that as a good thing though, and meant the child was tough enough to survive this, especially heading back out with Chris and the others like she was.

"Good point," Megan said, then she told her, "You take care of your mama out there and listen to what she says, alright?"

"I will. Then we'll come back to get you. Or...they'll send someone," Shannon corrected herself, and looked over at Chris, asking, "Right, Chris?"

"Right," Chris replied, looking back at Travis and Megan with a nod of his head since he'd heard their short conversation.

"See," Shannon confirmed and looked back up at Megan. "By the way, watch out for Cathy. I think she's really lonely and scared, and I promised her she'd be okay. I want her to feel okay here too until someone comes back though."

Megan smiled at Shannon and nodded in agreement, but she was soon distracted when she heard something, glancing over at the hatch that led onto the roof to see that Cecilia was pulling herself up through it.

Regan was right behind her, and as soon as Cecilia was on her feet, she asked, "What'd we miss?"

"Nothing much," Chris started. "I didn't want to start the helicopter up right away because of the noise it makes."

"Good idea," Regan remarked as she stood on her own two legs as well and went over to Shannon, asking her, "You ready to go for a little ride?"

Shannon nodded silently, but vigorously, and then looked back over when she heard Chris saying to Alonzo, "Remember what I told you. I haven't seen many of those things around, but even one can be a problem because they're so fast." Then Chris thought of something else and added, "Oh, one other thing. There's a fence at the end of the walkway to the back door that bars the path to the other side of the road."

"_S__í_," Maurice nodded. "We figured it was best to leave it there so that there's only one way to the back door."

"It's a trap, Maurice," Chris informed him with a shake of his head to the contrary. "Trust me, I've seen it before. Sometime soon, someone's going to head back with zombies on their ass, needing a quick entrance, and the door won't be opened for them in time. When that happens, they won't be able to go back to the door, because zombies will block one side, and the fence will block the other. You need to take it down completely, even if it means you'll need to watch two sides on the way in and out. Less of a chance of getting cornered."

"That's why we had the sniper in the window, but you could be right, especially if the sniper can't get a good shot," Alonzo said. "I'll see what I can do about it in the morning, and I won't forget what you said about those..._things_ you mentioned either. I'll let the rest know about it tomorrow when they're up."

"Good," Chris nodded, hoping his advice would give them all a bigger fighting chance. He felt a little better about it because Alonzo and, indeed, the other men around seemed very serious in protecting the school, and Chris knew when someone was serious about what they were doing or not because he'd been around enough rookies who didn't know their ass from a hole in the ground to be able to tell. Despite the fact that they didn't have his years of experience in dealing with this shit, he felt like his knowledge was at least being put into good hands.

"Before you go," Alonzo started before he looked over at Megan. "Hey, _dame las bolsas por favor_, Megan."

Megan nodded her head and turned to step over to where they had two bags settled on the roof. She lifted them up and walked over, handing one to Alonzo before telling him, "_Esta bolsa tiene las armas_."

"_Gracias_," Alonzo replied, and held the bag out to Chris. "Here's some of the weapons. We thought the ammo might help you guys. The bag she's giving your friends has some food in it, and some painkillers and bandages from the nurse's office here. It's not much, but it's something."

Chris sighed, taking the bag into his hand as he said, "I hate depriving you of this, but considering the circumstances, I think it'd be foolish not to."

"Exactly. Not to mention giving you a better chance means we have better chances of getting out of here too," Alonzo replied, then reached out and shook Chris's hand in a firm grip. "You be careful, _hombre_. Watch your asses. We'll look forward to seeing if anyone gets here for us, and _vaya con Dios, mi amigo_."

Chris knew what that particular line meant, which was _walk with God_, and Chris told him plainly, "I'll do my best, Alonzo. Maurice, Travis," he said in turn, "You guys be careful and watch these people close, alright?"

The men all nodded back at him, and he knew that was all that could be done for now. Turning, he went to load up the bag into the helicopter as everyone else was getting their things inside. Shannon had already climbed on board and was moving to settle in the back corner on the opposite side of the pilot's seat, apparently fascinated with the machine.

Regan let Megan give her a hug as the woman told her, "_Cuida de su niñita_," and then added, _"y ten cuidado_."

"_S__í__. __Gracias, Megan. Estaremos de vuelta para todos ustedes tan pronto como __nos sea posible. Esté __cuidadoso hasta entonces_." Regan stood back after saying that, smiling at her meaningfully, having told her to be careful until they could get there.

Nodding, Megan replied, "_Haremos todo lo que_," and smiled, stepping back to give Shannon the same smile where she sat in the helicopter. Then she looked at Cecilia and said, "_Y tu_, take care of yourself, lady."

Though Cecilia wasn't precisely certain what the two women had just told one another, she gave Megan a confident response. "I'll do my best. Thanks, and be careful here too, especially with all the kids around."

As this was being spoken, Chris walked over to where Regan was standing. He needed to tell her about the tyrant now before they lost anymore time, and he didn't hesitate. Tapping her arm, he motioned to the side when she looked back and gave him her attention. Seeing that he apparently wanted to tell her something, Regan began to walk toward the front of the helicopter where he'd motioned to.

When she did, Chris asked Cecilia, "Watch Shannon for a minute, I need to tell Regan about something, alright?"

Cecilia gave a nod of her head and settled into the chopper to do just that, tugging a band off of her wrist before she went to tie her hair up onto the back of her head so it would stay out of her face. Chris turned in the meantime and took a few steps away to stand in front of the aircraft where Regan had gone so they could talk without Shannon overhearing anything.

"What's up?," Regan asked him when he came to a stop, looking uncertain over what he could've had in mind to talk about.

"There's something I haven't told you about yet, and it might change your mind about not only coming along with me, but also about me and the choices I've made completely."

Narrowing her brows, Regan asked, "Could you make it sound anymore ominous? What's this about?"

"It's about Wesker," he started. "When I brought him with us, I put us all in danger, and I don't just mean because _he's_ so dangerous. It's why I'm not waiting until morning to get the hell out of here."

Regan silently shook her head at him, mentioning, "I figured you were just wanting to go now because he was still out there."

"Well, there's that sort of, but also, Regan, there's a tyrant that's chasing Wesker down, and it could put these people here in danger too. He said it's been on his trail for a while now and I saw it myself in Salida when we picked him up."

She listened to him, something clicking in her head with what he'd mentioned before about dragging Wesker along, which she hadn't asked about at the time. So now seemed like her best chance to. "What's a tyrant exactly? I remember you mentioning it before in the RV when you were telling me about your decision to let him come along with us, but I never asked you what it was."

With a sigh of breath that showed up as steam in the cold night air, Chris shook his head slowly. "Laymen's terms? It's a viral freak with super strength that can stand up to a shit ton of fire power."

That really was as simple as it got, but Chris gave her a little more to go by anyway. "Wesker is actually classified by my company as a tyrant, but the normal kind, like the one chasing him, well, you'd know it easily when you saw it. It's a big, hulking thing strong enough to crush someone in its hands, and smart enough to use weapons, or at least, they're programmed and given orders to."

He took in a breath, ready to get it all out completely, finishing his explanation by saying, "Point is, someone wants Wesker out of the picture. I know I should've said this before, but I just didn't. I don't know if it was because I didn't get a chance to or because I didn't want to worry you, but there it is, a real reason you might wanna stay here instead of tagging along with me."

Regan was letting out her breath slowly in hearing this. Chris watched her quietly, certain she'd grab Shannon now and tug her out of the helicopter no matter how much Shannon wanted to leave the school. But there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it, and he wouldn't blame her at all if she did.

After a moment, Regan asked, "The last time you saw it was in Salida?"

"Yeah, and Wesker managed to set it on fire, but that won't stop it. He only did that to slow it down so we could get away faster."

"God," Regan sighed out, looking up at the sky for a brief moment considerately with her eyes trailing to the side. Once they stopped moving, she asked, "It'll attack us too?"

"If we're aiding Wesker, it probably will," Chris informed her on a flat tone of voice that said he wasn't happy with the thought of it either.

The answer made her shut her eyes, and then she suddenly snorted after a moment as if sarcastically amused. Finally looking back at Chris, meeting his gaze with consideration in her own, she shook her head and asked him, "You really don't make things easy, do you, Chris?" Chris thought she might've been about to tell him he was an asshole for keeping it from her, or something generally along those lines anyway.

But instead, she just told him pointedly after a moment, "Get your ass in the chopper."

Uncertain about that sudden command, Chris asked, "Should I get Shannon out first?"

"Hell no," she shook her head. "I'm not leaving my daughter here alone."

Well that was a surprise. Chris furrowed his brows over it. "I figured you'd pack up for sure."

Regan started shaking her head negatively over the comment. "Look, what I said before, that's all true. I owe you, not just for me, but for her. I knew things were going to get shaky when you told me about Wesker coming along to begin with. I didn't think something like _this_ would come up, but I still stand by my words. Knowing this thing is chasing him down and putting you at even more risk than I'd thought, I'm sure as hell not letting you risk all of that by yourself, I don't care what you've been through. Not to mention, if I pull Shannon out of that chopper, even if she knew exactly why, she'd never forgive me for it."

The words sank in, but Chris had to remind her, "It'd be better to have her hating you when she's alive than loving you when she's dead, Regan."

That was a cold, harsh fact, and Regan knew it. She only nodded though, telling Chris, "It doesn't change the fact that we could also be just as easily killed here as we could with you, and these people need _someone_ to make it to Dallas. Besides, you're not getting my rifle, and it'll just make it harder for him to move the bus if I stay here. So we're going."

She'd made up her mind, and Chris could see she didn't like to change it too often once she had. Finally, he gave her a nod of his head and said, "Yes ma'am, I'll just get my ass into the chopper then like you said."

Regan gave him a small smile, letting him walk around before she turned to go climb inside of it herself.

As Chris moved, and turned to pull himself up into the pilot's seat and shut the door. Once he began to fasten his seat belt and then put the headset on, though the connections were still completely dead, he glanced back outside and saw Alonzo lifting a hand to give him a respectful salute. Chris nodded and returned it, though not properly at all since Alonzo probably wouldn't know the difference, then turned to the controls of the dashboard.

Chris began to reach up to flip the switches, and as he worked, he heard Shannon asking him something.

"How many times have you flown one of these things, Chris?," came her curious voice from the back seat.

"Too many to count, Squirt," he replied, then smirked, "I mean, Commander Squirt."

Shannon snickered softly and muttered out, "Oh lord," which made Cecilia snort in amusement and Regan just grin. Chris turned the the next set of switches as this went on, and the rotary blades outside of the helicopter began to turn in response. "Everyone fasten your seat belts," he told them, getting the chopper ready to lift off of the ground.

Seat belts strapped into place, everyone was ready to go. Regan was getting her own hair tugged back like Cecilia had not long before her, and Cecilia smiled when Shannon gave her a thumbs up after a slight bit of help was given to make sure her seat belt was strapped in right. Chris took the controls and tilted one of them when outside, the rails began to lift up and off of the ground due to the action. Megan and the others watched, hair and clothing whipping in the wind generated by the aircraft as it began to ascend upwards.

Shannon was staring out of the window at the scenery as they slowly rose up toward the sky, then looked over at Chris to watch him piloting. That was when he pushed forward on the controls and the tail lifted up in the air slightly, the nose tilting forward as the chopper started to move across the sky and away from the school, flying over the tops of the buildings at a decent distance above.

"You think he'll make it there?"

"He's smart," Alonzo replied to Megan's question. "I think they're the best shot we have at getting somewhere safe. But come on, we can't stay out here."

"Why not?," Travis asked.

"I'll tell you inside, let's just go in and shut the hatch for now."

The chopper moved through the sky at a good rate of speed, and as he flew it, Chris noticed there seemed to be a signal coming out of the headphones he'd put on his head which, until they'd reached a higher altitude, had been dead. Surprised, he glanced over and listened to the static, then said to the others with him, "I'm getting something on the headset. I'm gonna take her up a bit and hover for a minute, see if I can get a better signal at a higher altitude."

Regan looked over at him and then back at Cecilia who looked curious to see if his idea might work while Chris did as he'd said he would.

Ascending upwards, Chris got more static and, suddenly, after he'd reached about five hundred feet, he heard words coming in on the radio. He reached up and pressed it to his ear when he did, trying to hear over the static. The words were faint, but from what he could tell, they were saying, "_This is Squad B, flying—the perimeter. We're not picking up—the south side. It's—wn there—Squad A, report back._"

Chris told the others, "It sounds like air traffic reports." He then flipped a switch on the dashboard and said, "This is Chris Redfield of the BSAA, does anyone copy? Over."

Everyone waited and watched while Chris tried to get through to them. He went into silence, listening to more chatter, then tried again. "This is Chris Redfield with the BSAA, trying to reach anyone from my company or any military personnel I can find. Does anyone out there copy on that?"

Chris listened, and he heard someone saying, "_Unidentified broadcast—interference—n't tell what's being—_," and Chris realized he was getting through but his reception was fuzzy. Suddenly he put both hands on the controls and began to move forward without question. He took the helicopter through the air smoothly and then repeated almost the same thing he'd said before as they went, ending with, "Can anyone hear me, over."

Suddenly, and for the first time since this all started, he got an answer. A man had come in on the radio asking, "_We hear you, but—gnal's faint. Identify yourself._"

When the man asked that, Chris began to identify himself without hesitation, and after a moment, he heard the words, "_We copy that you're—SAA, but the name—fuzzy._" There was a good bit of static then followed by the words, "_There's—under the—Reginald Dreyer. Do you copy?_"

Chris got a look on his face that seemed surprised, and he replied, "I copy the name Reginald Dreyer, the rest isn't coming through, but—," and he stopped and suddenly cussed, "Damn it!"

"What's wrong?," Cecilia asked.

"They lost me again," he called back to her, then stopped talking when he heard more on his headset which came in fast and suddenly.

"_Squad B, we've gotta retre—swarm's coming in from—south southwest at—there's too many of them! All units fall back!_"

The words were getting more and more fuzzy, and the last thing Chris heard before the line went completely dead was, "_Get your asses back—gotta—ey're not gonna make it. Repeat all men get—fall back! There's too fuck—many of them!_"

Chris let out a low sigh when the line went dead. He wasn't sure if he was picking up a military unit within range that was falling back now so the range was pulling away, or if they'd all just been possibly killed, but there was nothing he could do.

"I've lost the line. Taking her down now."

Chris began to do just that. The helicopter carried them toward their position, and it didn't take much time to reach. Still Chris was careful, rounding the place so they could try to get a glimpse of the roadways below them and figure out just what they were standing up against before he ever moved the helicopter into position over the store.

Flying over the main road, like they'd all thought, the scenery showed that the hummer was surrounded. It wasn't much by big city standards, but it was enough to give the four of them a real problem. As the lights on the helicopter flew overhead, some of the lumbering zombies below reached out as if just waiting for a meal to fall into their laps, groaning lowly while moving rather aimlessly in that moment.

Chris swung the helicopter around at the end of the road and turned it, then moved it into position to hover over the rooftop of the store, bringing her down in a perfect landing.

Wesker was standing on the roof below while he watched them above, noticing that the zombies were only paying a little attention to the aircraft overall, but seemed to ignore it otherwise, possibly because it was out of reach. He stood there staring over the roadway, his amber eyes trailing up to the bus while focusing on what he would have to do soon now. A few strands of his normally neat hair had blown out of place from the helicopter's rotary blades as Chris landed it behind him, but he just pushed them back without further thought when he heard them slowing down behind himself.

Wesker had taken the time to grab a few things of his own while waiting for the rest to regroup with him. Most of those things were in a duffle bag he'd lifted from the same shop he'd taken them, settled near his legs along with a vest that carried quite a few hand grenades on it—something he found on the corpse of a police officer from Denver who'd been wandering through one of the shops. Wesker found it somewhat amusing that the zombie hadn't managed to blow itself up before then.

As the craft lowered to the roof and the railing touched the surface and settled, Chris tugged the headset off and put it aside, then unstrapped his seat belt. Cecilia was busy undoing her own and helping Shannon out of hers, and while Regan did the same, Chris looked over at her and said, "I _did_ get something from that transmission. The name Reginald Dreyer."

Regan glanced over at him and asked, "Who's that?"

"One of the commanders of the North American BSAA unit. If he's still alive, then things are looking up a little." After telling them that, Chris took a deep breath, in better spirits now than he had been.

"If he's alive, then does that mean Dallas is still safe?," Shannon asked from the backseat.

"It could, but I don't know for sure. Still, it seems like a better chance knowing he's alive now."

Chris got his door opened after telling her that and then turned and climbed out with the rest of the ladies following him only a moment later. He looked over at Wesker who was standing next to a duffle bag and a vest of grenades, walking toward the man and asking on the way, "What hardware shop did you find _those_ at?"

"A former Denver police officer had them," Wesker replied, looking back at Chris as the rotary blades slowed to a full stop behind him. "He wasn't using them, so I decided to bring them along."

Chris figured they would come in handy sometime, though probably not on this specific run, and he asked, "What else did you get?"

"Not much, only a few items here and there were worth grabbing. Whomever is staying in the school has done an excellent job of picking the place dry for the most part. And you? Did you manage to get any provisions from them, or are we raiding the store?"

"Actually, they offered us some, but it's still not much," Chris replied. "We'll need to raid the store as well."

Wesker took that in without much of a reaction, only saying, "I trust you've told them what's going to happen then."

Cecilia was next to speak, telling Wesker, "He told me what you said about going into the store. I've got two bags ready to go and a handgun with three extra clips. Is there a way down from here to get inside at the back?"

"Yes, there's a service ladder I took the liberty of unfolding at the back of the roof," Wesker informed her, motioning in that direction. "It's the only way that the rest of you will be able to join me once the bus is out of the way."

"Then we should check below and make sure there's nothing blocking her path," Chris pointed out. "She can go down once you're drawing attention, so I'll give you the signal when we're ready for you to start moving. Then Regan can motion back once the zombies are drawn away from the store and Cecilia will go in."

Chris turned after he said that and moved toward the back of the building. Cecilia looked at Wesker and asked him, "Are you going to take those grenades with you?"

"I thought they might be useful since I'll be drawing the swarm, so yes."

"Well, be careful where you throw them."

Wesker smirked, "This is a moment where you'll just have to trust me. I've handled grenades before."

"Uh huh," Cecilia replied blandly, then asked, "do you have the keys?"

"I do."

"Give them to me. I might be able to start the hummer for you and make things easier."

Wesker considered that for a moment, then he shook his head. "If you're with me below, and you get the chance, _then_ I'll give them to you."

Cecilia couldn't help herself from groaning softly. "Fine," she muttered out, letting the man have his way for the moment, and she turned to head back to where Chris was waiting. Once she got there, she looked down the ladder and noticed that there was nothing in the roadway that she could see.

Chris had already scoped the area out for himself, and as Cecilia did her own looking, he said, "I'll stay up here while you climb down and give you a little cover."

"Alright," she nodded, putting her gun into the holster on her belt before looking up ahead to see Wesker was standing up front with Regan who was setting up her sniper rifle. Then she looked back at Chris and said, "Give me your radio incase I need to get in touch with you. Regan still has hers on her belt."

Chris looked down at his radio and took the device before handing it over to her. "I'll let Regan know you have it when I get back up front."

Cecilia put the radio on her belt with a nod and they looked back over to where Wesker and Regan were setting up to get this thing started. Shannon was standing nearby them both waiting patiently, and Wesker asked Regan who was adjusting her rifle's scope, "How skilled are you with that?"

"I suppose the fact that I'm good enough to actually own a rifle like this wouldn't offer much comfort, would it?"

"Not in specific."

Looking over, but not particularly up at Wesker until she had her thoughts right in her head, she said, "Well, if you want specifics, this rifle holds ten rounds, and the firing speed is about point eleven seconds. It takes me personally about eight to ten seconds to reload her. As for my aim, I had a ninety five percent accuracy rating on my last performance test."

"How long ago was this?"

"About three years now."

"Reassuring," Wesker said on a flat tone of voice. "I trust with raising a child between then and now, you haven't had much time for practice."

"I guess we'll find out soon enough," Regan replied, knowing that even if she said she had practiced on a daily basis with the thing, Wesker probably wouldn't believe her.

His reply was simple. "I'll keep it in mind."

Once the words were out of his mouth, Wesker glanced over at Shannon to see her giving him a somewhat funny look, her lips pursed and brows narrowed—not a look he normally got from children. She seemed somewhat curious, but he had nothing to say, and her attention was turned away from him when her mother said, "Shannon, remember to stay close and be ready to tell Chris and Cecilia when to move."

"Got it," Shannon agreed.

Wesker let an inaudible snort of breath and then looked back at Chris, seeing him giving the sign that the path was clear where he was. So he told Regan. "Chris is giving the signal that their way is clear. I'm going down now."

"Got you covered," Regan confirmed for him, and she watched him lifting the vest of grenades up before actually jumping over the edge of the roof. She couldn't help but lift a brow in response, quickly leaning in to the scope of her rifle to look below, and a moment later, surely enough, she saw Wesker moving through the parking lot.

"I'll be damned. He didn't get hurt." She let out a soft sigh of breath over the stunt, then focused on what she needed to do and got an approaching zombie in her sights. "Shannon, put your hand on my shoulder so I know you're there, but don't look over the edge, got it?"

"Roger, mama," Shannon replied and walked over, sticking her hand on Regan's shoulder since Regan had to watch Wesker for now, waiting patiently to get the word to go and tell Chris and Cecilia when to move.

Things were about to get interesting now.


	25. Escape

_Chapter 24 - Escape_

_ December 3__rd__, 2007_

_ Santa Rosa, New Mexico_

_ 1:15 AM_

Wesker didn't move too quickly as he got to the parking lot below. Instead, once he landed and looked up to see that he'd almost immediately gotten the attention of three nearby corpses, he pushed himself up and moved at a normal pace around them, then continued to simply run in order to grab the attention of as many of the zombies roaming about on purpose so he could draw them away from the store for Cecilia to start this whole operation off.

There were a few still standing inside of the establishment left over from Chris's retreat with the others earlier, one of which Wesker stopped long enough in order to take a single shot at, pulling the trigger of his handgun and nailing one of them in the head. That action got the rest to turn around and follow him outside. Wesker started moving away again afterward, zombies walking and stumbling in behind him now as he headed toward the hummer first, his run still at a normal rate of speed. Once he reached the stationary vehicle, he jumped up and onto the roof of the car and then turned to push himself up onto the RV where he settled the vest of grenades he'd carried with him.

Wesker looked down over the heads of the undead gathering below him at the side of the RV, their arms reaching up, then glanced back to see the same sight on the other side. From there, his slitted pupils glanced up toward the the rooftop, able to see the sniper settled on the edge and covering him.

"Time to get this proverbial party started," he spoke to no one more than himself and then turned to get going.

From the RV, he moved back to the roof of the hummer with his own gun still in hand incase a monster couldn't be avoided, or incase Regan might miss or not get a good shot. As he made it back to the shorter car, the zombies followed and tried to reach and climb on top of it with him. Regan had already managed to get a few shots in by then, and Wesker could barely hear the rifle going off due to the silencer it had built into it. But he easily saw the effect when one of the zombies nearby him went down quickly without a head, one that had started to get onto the roof successfully. He supposed in that moment that Regan's aim was sufficient enough, but he'd need more time to be convinced of that completely.

Without giving a single pause, Wesker ran across the roof of the vehicle and jumped, using the head of a zombie to push himself out further and landed in and empty space beyond the swarm where he finally began to run toward the bus, this time using more speed than he had beforehand, his eyes starting to glow.

Because the vehicle was settled on its side, it wasn't difficult to find a place to grab hold of, and as soon as Wesker reached the toppled over vehicle, he took a shaft of the metal lining the bottom into his gloved hands and began to lift it. For him, the weight was very heavy, but he got the side up, and then began to push with a grunt of effort. Metal started to scrape loudly across the pavement, and Wesker's eyes continually glowed as he exerted the strength it took to move the thing as he was now.

He heard the movement behind him though, and looked back briefly, seeing the zombie closest to him suddenly going down without a head, but the others were still too close. Letting the vehicle fall flat on its side again, Wesker grabbed his handgun from his inner coat and took three shots in a row with a single hand, killing the incoming creatures with splatters of blood erupting from the backs of their heads before he turned and then crouched down. Without waiting, he used his legs to propel himself up onto the side of the bus and out of reach momentarily, then began to walk across it so he could draw the swarm around in another direction and give himself some room, taking a few shots here and there along the way whenever he managed to get them.

A few minutes before then, Regan had taken out a zombies that was on the getting too close to Wesker on the roof of the hummer before he'd ran to the bus, and because of the silencer in her rifle, she didn't draw attention away from him. She waited until she realized that the majority of the zombies were following the blonde before she took two more shots and said, "Okay Shannon, go let Chris and Cecilia know it's now or never, Wesker's halfway to the bus and he's got them on his tail."

"Roger," Shannon replied and turned around, heading across the rooftop toward Chris and Cecilia as quickly as possible. Once she was there, she told them both, "Wesker has the monsters on his butt, and he's halfway there, so get a move on it."

Cecilia couldn't help a grin at how the girl had said that, turning to the ladder so she could climb down it. Chris watched her from over the edge of the roof above with his weapon aimed, focusing on covering the descending woman, though thankfully nothing ever showed up. He just watched Cecilia tugging out her weapon once she'd reached the ground before making her way through the back door of the shop silently. Once she was through the sturdy metal door, he knew it was all up to her and that she'd radio in if there was a problem, and turned around to head to the front.

"Come on, Shannon," he told the child while taking her hand as they went, crossing the roof and rounding the open-door chopper settled on it now. A moment later, he got up next to Regan so he could crouch down near her when she took another shot.

"Regan, Cecilia's inside, so watch for her. She has my radio, so I'm going to take yours for now." He reached and slipped her's off of her belt and then put it into his own.

"Got it," Regan said, taking another shot. "I'm going to have to reload."

"I can cover you," Chris told her, drawing up his own gun.

Hearing this, Regan got to work reloading, and while she did, she told Chris, "By the way, there's a vest of grenades on the roof of the RV. I think Wesker left them there in case he had to retreat back to it."

"Got it," Chris nodded, and even though all he had was a handgun, he was a good enough marksman that he managed to get a head shot where it counted, though he was a little slower with the distance and the lighting at that nighttime hour not being so great with only the dim streetlamps to guide him.

After his shot, Regan got her rifle reloaded and they could all hear a loud, distant scrape of metal, which was Wesker at the bus, pushing it out of the way. The screeching went on for a few moments before it stopped, and Shannon seemed completely confounded by it.

"I still can't believe he's pushing it by himself. Must have to do with those weird eyes. He looks like a monster too."

"It does, Squirt, and yeah, he is," Chris told her, staying focused however, and though his weapon made more noise than Regan's rifle, he took another shot at a zombie and managed to get the head taken off before it could reach Wesker.

The trouble was that sometimes too many would get near Wesker, and that would take away Regan's ability to shoot, or she'd possibly hit _him_. So Wesker would have to stop pushing on the vehicle momentarily in order to draw them all away by hopping onto the bus and moving around toward the back of it before jumping back to the road and moving to the hummer in order to gain a bit of space. The swarm would start ambling whenever he did, moving slowly enough back toward the hummer that it allowed him a few moments of rest while also allowing the sniper to get the upper hand in the situation when they became scattered once again.

But as soon as Wesker made it back to the bus, he lifted his arms and put all the strength he could muster into moving it. The thing would slide and scrape across the pavement, inch by inch, and inevitably, the zombies would get too close again, so this kind of cycle would continue.

Meanwhile, inside of the store, Cecilia snuck into the back quietly to see only two zombies still 'browsing the wares' for all it was worth, both of which had their backs turned to her, allowing her to use the element of surprise to her advantage. Quietly, she stepped up behind one of them while watching her footing because the floor's weren't completely clean, and slowly slipped her dagger off of her belt. Moving closer, the monster let a low moan as she got about three feet behind it, and she clenched her teeth in response and stopped moving, looking to make sure the other one didn't look back because of the sudden sound.

When both of them remained still after the sound was emitted, she focused her sights on the closest one again and took another step, quickly grabbing the front of it's head with her hand before jamming the blade she held into the base of it's skull at the top of the neck.

The man's body went limp, and she held onto it long enough to lower the corpse to his knees, then laid him over silently, all the while focusing her green eyes on the other that was standing a few feet ahead of her for movement. She stood back up and took a few more steps toward it quietly, aiming to repeat the process.

With another step onto the floor, a very small piece of broken glass scraped under her boot, cracking with the pressure, shard that was hard to see to begin with, and the sound made her freeze in place.

Automatically, the shorter female zombie turned around and reached for her, swinging her arms quickly.

Like Wesker had said, Cecilia felt better in knowing that she couldn't contract this illness if she were bitten or scratched, but even still, the zombie would kill her and she didn't just let the rotund, older woman grab her or hurt her, backing up quickly as the zombie reached with her arms and groaned. The quick swinging motion caused the short haired woman to fly forward in a somewhat wobbly fashion for a moment like most typical zombies were prone to doing, and the movement left her wide open.

Cecilia took the opportunity to grab the back of her head by the hair, holding it down and ignoring the undead hands that suddenly grabbed her sides while she brought her blade up and into the front of the woman's skull with the other hand, putting the lifeless monster down completely. The arms fell away from her sides without getting a chance to dig into her, and Cecilia allowed the body to slump onto the floor in a dirty, bloody mess without the care of sound it made when it landed.

She simply used the woman's dirty, torn shirt to wipe her blade on before slipping it back into her belt, and she looked up at the front of the store and around as she stood again to make sure she was, in fact, alone to work. But everyone was outside with the commotion, so she had her chance now.

From there, she did everything she could to grab as much as possible for them to use on the way to Dallas as quickly as possible, somehow reminded of a game show where you only had so much time to get as much as you could in order to win the prize. Hell, if the prize was a quarantined city, then Cecilia was all up for this challenge, and the first place she started was in the section where she stood, being canned goods. Cecilia didn't blindly grab though. She tried to put at least _some_ thought into what she was doing while everyone else was keeping the swarm outside and off of her.

Above her on the roof, Regan was surprised to see a particular escape made by Wesker when confronted by an overwhelming group after she'd given Chris the exclamation, "There's too many piling up on him." It was in that moment when Wesker moved like lightening, and suddenly knocked the entire group backwards. Some flew away, others began to create a domino effect and fell over one another, landing on their backs and rolling onto their sides.

Regan blinked in response to the swift movement, asking, "What the hell did he just do?"

"Hell if I know," Chris muttered, then reminded her, "just remember not to waste shots on the ones that are down even if they _are_ easy kills. Concentrate on the threats only."

"Got it," Regan replied, taking a shot at one trying to stumble through the mess, watching it falling over before she announced in addition, "I'm getting down to about fifteen rounds total now with seven shots left in her."

Chris pulled the trigger of his handgun after she informed him of this, and the loud scraping sounded again in the distance as Wesker muscled the bus further to the side, which was _almost_ pushed far enough out of the way now that they could make a run to the hummer and get around it. That's when Chris's radio went off, Cecilia on the other end saying, "_Chris, Regan, I've got the bags full of everything I could think of and then some. I'm heading out of the store now so try not to shoot me. Over._"

Chris tugged his radio off of his belt and pulled it up to his mouth, saying, "Copy that, I'll make sure you're covered on the way to the RV. Wesker left the grenades on top of it, but he hasn't had a reason to use any yet. There's a hatch on the roof you can use in order to get up there and help kill these bastards. Over."

"_Got it. Moving out._"

Chris looked below when she said that, and finally spied her fairly easily because she was running instead of lumbering like the rest of the zombies around. "I see her now, Regan, stay on Wesker."

"On him," Regan replied, taking another shot to give Wesker more time to push on the bus. "Down to three rounds, but they're starting to thin out."

"I noticed that," Chris replied, taking another shot for Cecilia as the woman made it to the RV and opened the door, climbing inside and shutting it behind her. "Hopefully this will get a little easier now."

Shannon watched this going on between the two adults, though she couldn't see over the edge of the building, just waiting quietly as they were shooting at the zombies below. Chris looked back to check on her, and she looked around whenever he did as if his movements had reminded her to keep her eyes open. Seeing she was alright, Chris went back to aiming again, and told Regan she was fine since Regan had to concentrate on her scope.

Shannon had clutched the handle of the knife Cecilia had given her in her hand, though it was still in the leather sheath pinned by her belt, holding onto it just incase she might've needed it. As she watched Chris or Regan shooting at monster's below, behind her and over the edge of the building at the back not too far from where the ladder was positioned came some movement.

A clawed hand silently grabbed the edge of the rooftop while Shannon was focused ahead of herself and didn't notice it. A licker's head came over the edge, and it crawled onto the roof completely behind everyone, drawn by all of the sound they'd been making. Once on level ground, it started to creep across the area in their direction, claws lightly tapping on the rooftop as it went.

Shannon's brows narrowed when the sound hit her ears while the monster moved in closer behind her, it's long tongue slipping out of its mouth slowly. Since it had arrived on the roof, Chris and Regan had gotten silent, reloading in that moment and also conserving ammo when nothing was an immediate threat or Cecilia could see better than Chris from her new position on top of the RV where she'd moved to help keep the swarm contained and took shots for him. Her more distant gunfire left the licker somewhat confused and trying to find the ones on the roof again momentarily.

Shannon heard the clicking just before it had stopped however, and she slowly looked back to see the monster sitting there around ten feet behind her now, one of those lickers with the tongues she'd heard Chris mentioning earlier. Almost automatically, every muscle in her body froze up at once at the sight of the grotesque monster, its long tongue snaking out of its mouth, and she stepped back and opened her own. But thanks to her initially frozen body, she had the time to let the sudden thought hit her to be _quiet_ instead of yelling for help. That was what Chris had said to Alonzo. They couldn't see, so don't call for help and take a shot when it doesn't know you're there.

Because Chris and Regan weren't taking shots repetitively, there was no sound for a few moments, and Shannon almost turned to run to them quietly and warn them, but then remembered that they had to keep covering Cecilia and Wesker otherwise this wouldn't work, right? Her heart pounded in fearful confusion as she tried to figure it all out.

Breathing heavily, Shannon stayed right where she was, slipping out her knife where she didn't have a gun and likewise, didn't know how to use one outside of 'aim barrel, pull trigger'. She looked at the blade in her hand then, and back to the currently unmoving monster in turn. Automatically, she shook her head as if she'd just told herself the phrase _That's not happenin'_. Realizing she wasn't going to be able to do anything about this threat by herself, she hesitated and silently stepped back again when gunfire was heard. It was Chris's gun, followed almost immediately by Regan's rifle, and like clockwork, the creature began to head toward the sound again.

Shannon took a breath, and then reacted quickly. She immediately turned when the licker began to approach, taking off into a sprint in a completely different direction than where Chris and Regan were in fear, heading to the helicopter instead. Without fail, the licker followed the closest sound, which was of her footfalls, and turned with her. It's tongue whipped around toward the noise sharply and swiftly in the process to lash at the moving object.

Shannon was swift as well since she was so small, but before she could even take more than three steps, it'd managed to drag it's sharp appendage up and through her empty backpack, narrowly missing her body altogether by a mere few inches.

Realizing this, and the fact that she'd barely moved at all and was already being attacked, Shannon yelled out, "Chris! Mama! Shoot it!"

Chris and Regan both looked back in time to see the licker following the direction of the closest sound, which was Shannon's voice and footsteps, and it reared back and leapt toward the little girl just after she'd yelled those words. Regan's heart nearly exploded in her chest when she saw the monster heading right toward her child, nearly making it before Shannon suddenly used her own momentum to jump up to the open door of the helicopter.

Shannon's body hit the corner of the floorboard in the aircraft hard, unable to jump high enough to completely get inside of it, which left her legs hanging out as the licker landed not too far away behind her. She had the wind knocked out of her with the landing as well, but she still struggled to pull herself up as fast as possible. Her plan was to get inside and try to shut the door on the monster now that Chris and Regan were aware of its presence, and she grabbed the leg of the chair right in front of her to help with that endeavor.

But before she could even attempt to pull herself in, she heard a good bit of gunfire behind her.

Shannon looked back over her shoulder at the sound to see that Chris and Regan were both unloading on the monster with their handguns, which Regan had tugged off of her hip to use instead of moving her rifle, and the licker didn't like all of the bullets. It let out a wailed screech and began to fall to the side, bullets tearing their way through it's body and it's head, blowing gore and blood all over the roof below it.

The two adults finished it off completely, their barrels smoking in the cold air around them as the creature fell still and lifeless while Shannon stayed right where she was, hanging from her arms halfway out of the helicopter. She didn't move, minutes feeling like hours to her just then, and vaguely heard her mother saying to Chris, "Take over," before she could get herself to move at all.

Shannon let go of the chair's leg finally as Regan headed toward her, quietly slipping back down onto the roof and stood there still. This allowed Regan to grab her and pull her away from the aircraft and the gory mess, moving back with her toward the front of the building while Chris took over the rifle, though he listened to what was said next in order to make sure Shannon was okay.

"Shannon!," Regan got out on an urgent voice while settling her down on her feet and kneeling before her quickly, looking her over everywhere. "Are you alright!"

Shannon was still silent and even a little wild eyed. Regan lifted her hands and put them on her cheeks when she saw the expression her daughter had, and she told her, "Say something, honey. Tell me you're okay!"

It took the girl a moment, but after she saw the body of the monster laying to the side several feet behind Regan, she looked back at her mother, then parted her lips and only exclaimed the words, "Holy shit!"

Regan's expression went a little flat in response. Typically she might've scolded the girl, but this was a time when she felt Shannon's exclamation had been completely warranted as her own heart was still thundering in her chest. She just pulled her in and kissed her cheek, hugging her tightly with the relief she felt. While she wasn't sure exactly what had happened with the licker and Shannon precisely or why Shannon hadn't run to them instead of running to the helicopter, she was just happy that her daughter was still alive.

Chris heard everything, but he stayed focused at the moment, looking through the scope of Regan's rifle and taking a shot. As he panned back up, he could see that the bus below was completely out of the way now, and Wesker was moving across the top of it again in order to get back to the hummer. Cecilia had managed to hold her position on top of the RV in the meantime where she'd been helping to cover the situation.

But now that Wesker was done moving the bus, she was pulling out the radio and said into it, "_Chris, come on, Wesker's heading back now, the bus is out of the way. You'll have to be quick before they regroup out here. Over._"

"We see it, and we're coming now," Chris replied as he stood up, turning around to face the other two people with him. "Come on," he started, grabbing Regan's rifle and handing it to her. "We don't have much time before more could arrive. I'll carry Shannon down the ladder with me and you go first Regan while I cover you. Reload now if you have to."

Chris felt that was the best way to go because of the licker they'd just killed. If more showed up then he could get down faster with Shannon's weight on him then Regan could probably, and watch for more threats as well while Regan went first.

Regan didn't hesitate and got the strap of her rifle over her shoulder, then reloaded her weapons just as Chris did for his handgun before they headed to the back of the roof. Once they were there, Regan told him to give her the weapons bag he'd been carrying from the school since he was going to carry Shannon, and once she had it, she turned to climb down the service ladder while Chris covered her from above.

It didn't take her too long to do, and once she was on the ground, Chris looked over at the little girl with him and told her as he knelt down, "Come on, Shannon."

Shannon didn't waste time and moved to climb up onto his back with her arms around his neck, holding onto the straps of the gun harness around his shoulders. Once she was there, he stood up without much of a problem and told her even as he turned to start climbing down, "Hold on as tight as you can and don't look down."

"Roger," she replied on a soft voice and shut her eyes tight.

Halfway down, Chris heard Regan saying up to him, "We've got company, Chris, three corpses moving in slow."

Only a moment later he set his feet on the ground and looked over, spying the three men wandering down the roadside toward them. They had plenty of space and time to get into the store however, so it wasn't an issue for the moment. Chris simply let Shannon down, who slipped off of his back and then went to take her mother's hand, while Regan let Chris lead the way to the back door. As he went, he holstered his handgun to switch it out with something that had a little more firepower, tugging his shotgun up from where it rested on the strap around his chest and grabbed the knob of the door.

Opening it, he slowly looked into the back and saw that the path was clear, so he motioned for Regan to follow and headed inside. Once Regan was in with Shannon, she shut the door behind them so the zombies were locked out, and then looked ahead to follow Chris who wasn't wasting any time. Chris made sure to check out everything as he moved, including the ceilings, and then glanced back after he'd made it so far through the isles to make sure Regan and Shannon were still with him.

As they began to emerge into the front of the store, surely enough another undead man was trying to walk in through the busted front windows, and Chris fired at him without question. The blast from his shotgun flew toward the zombie and knocked it backwards, some of the buck shot splintering through a window nearby, rupturing it and causing it to crash before Chris pumped the shotgun again and moved closer to the front.

As he made it to the open window, he scanned the lot outside with his eyes to try to find a good path through it and to the road, all the while able to hear banging at the back door now from the zombies who'd heard all of the commotion going on. He didn't pay the sound any attention though and noticed that Cecilia had just opened the door to the RV.

Cecilia had been watching the store from the roof of the RV after Chris and Regan disappeared to the back with Shannon. A moment later, when she noticed movement inside of the establishment, she hesitated until she knew for certain in the dark night that it was their companions. Once she could see that it was them due to Chris's careful movements, she reloaded her weapon and holstered it, then grabbed the vest of grenades. Turning, Cecilia climbed back down inside of the RV through the hatch on the roof, then moved to the door quickly once her feet had hit the floor. She knew they'd have a better shot if she got the door open ahead of time and tried to cover them all from there.

Once she'd grabbed the handle and made sure the coast was clear outside, at least in the general vicinity, she stepped back into the lot while taking her weapon from her belt and aiming. Chris saw this from the store when he'd scanned the lot, able to tell that she was going to cover them from where was. When he saw that they had a clear path as well, he knew then that now was their best chance to get moving.

"Come on, go ahead of me and watch for the bodies, I'll bring up the rear," he told Regan and Shannon, standing to the side as they ran through the open windows lined with the broken glass and past him. As they went, Shannon felt something against her right arm, which made her gasp, but she wasn't sure what it had been, and couldn't pay it too much attention because she was fearful with the zombies coming in around them when Regan had turned and lifted her up from the ground and started moving swiftly.

Like he'd said he would, Chris was moving in behind them, keeping their rear covered as they went. They all briefly noticed that Wesker was already in the driver's seat now that they were drawing the zombies away from _him_, the hummer on and ready to head off as soon as they made it to the RV. Cecilia took a few shots to keep approaching enemies off of Regan while she side stepped toward the hummer with the vest in hand, covering the three running for the RV for as long as she possibly could, working on her last clip of ammo now.

Thanks to the shots, Regan managed to get Shannon to the RV as quickly as possible, panting once she got there because of the weight she was carrying. But she ignored it for the moment and settled Shannon inside, then looked back quickly. Chris was about ten feet away as she pulled her handgun up from her belt, doing a good job of keeping the path cleared with his shotgun, but she had no idea how many rounds he had left in the weapon.

Chris turned around when he noticed that Regan had reached the RV to begin backing quickly toward it, and when he did, he saw a crimson head running in his direction—too close for him to do anything but drop his shotgun and reach up to grab its wrists just as the damned thing brought both sets of claws down at him in a swipe to try to slice him open. He managed to catch his arms though, and put some strength into pushing him backwards. The scent of death came off of the man in droves, enough to nauseate anyone no matter how many times they'd detected it before, and Chris grunted with the effort he was exerting as the crimson head continued to try to get to him, claws splayed and mouth open showing off two rows of sharp, yellowish-brown teeth with a line of drool slobbering out of them.

As Chris worked to get the hideous looking creature back, a sharp knife suddenly came down at its cranium and stabbed into it with a spurt of blood, causing the tension between the crimson head and Chris to go lax. As soon as it had, Chris shoved the monster's dead body backwards as hard as he could. The sudden shove made Regan, who'd just stabbed it, lose the knife in her hand completely, but she didn't think twice about it and only turned when Chris moved an arm in front of her to get them both going to the RV now that he'd been freed from the monster's grasp.

Almost as soon as Regan turned around to go with him though, there was a tall, skinny zombie at her side, startling her. She had no time to react at all however when she felt Chris tugging her back and away from it before he swung his fist to connect with the monster's temple, knocking his decayed, grimacing face to the side and decking him out on the cement completely.

When the man fell over, Chris told her, "Move!," as he continued to head with her back to the RV.

They reached the door just after that, and Regan threw it open again to try to climb inside after she'd taken the knife Shannon had offered her before to kill the crimson head and shut the door for her daughter. But she let out a sudden gasp when Chris, who was in escape mode, didn't waste the time waiting for that and leaned to put an arm around her upper legs and lifted her up into the vehicle himself. With everything else going on, the movement had scared her, but he didn't even notice as all the while, he'd taken his shotgun in the other hand and aimed it to fire the weapon at two lumbering corpses with his last shell he had loaded into it currently.

He yelled to the front of the hummer when the corpses fell down with the buck shot splintering into their heads, "We're inside, Wesker, go!," then turned to climb in.

With Regan in the RV and the closest threats down, Chris went to grab the door just as a woman missing half of her face closed in on him from out of nowhere, trying to climb up the steps of the RV toward him. Without thought, Chris reached up a leg and sent his work boot into the zombie's head to push her back while the RV started moving before he grabbed the door and shut it when she fell over onto the pavement and rolled, then locked it on the outside world altogether.

From there, Chris turned around and climbed up front, looking outside to see that Wesker was successfully navigating through their roadblocks—which included a number of bodies he was having to crush under the tires—and driving onward past the obstacle previously blocking their path now.

Wesker had said before that nothing much was past the bus, and thankfully, he'd been right. Maybe the bus had created a block for the zombies as well, held them back and they just didn't care to make it to the other side when there was no food over there, but either way, Chris was grateful for their movement out of the town now, and their current safety.

He took a deep breath, his head falling forward with the rush of adrenaline still roiling through him, and then lifted his radio and asked into it, "You alright up there? Over."

"_I'm touched. But yes, things are fine. Over._"

Chris thought Cecilia had the radio, and in response, he said, "I didn't mean you, jackass, I meant Cecilia. Over."

"_She's low on ammo now, but fine._"

Wesker didn't say over, and Chris didn't care to respond to him knowing that Cecilia was alright. For now, he just needed to get himself recovered from their literally death defying run just then.

In the hummer, Wesker settled the radio back onto the dashboard and glanced over at Cecilia, asking, "What did you manage to grab from the store?"

"A ton of stuff actually," she breathed out the words, still collecting herself just like the rest. "Including things we _don't_ need specifically."

"Then it was a good run," he replied, hearing her slightly winded breathing from all of the work they'd just done where his was also a bit accelerated. Moving a bus took a lot of work after all, even for him. "I'm glad all of this effort wasn't wasted on nothing."

"Me too. I'm glad we're actually moving again, and that the roads look clear," Cecilia replied. "Actually, I'm glad we're just alive in general."

Wesker agreed, but he didn't say so. Instead, he listened when Cecilia looked over and asked him, "What about you? You didn't strain yourself or get a...hernia or something, did you?"

Somehow, the sudden thought of it made her tilt her head toward her hand where she had her elbow resting next to the dirty, smudged window, and cover her mouth with her fingers before she snickered a few times. Soon the snickers turned into chuckles over the ridiculous notion, and she glanced over to see that Wesker was also smirking, and he even looked amused, which surprised her.

"Laugh it up," he told her plainly. "The important thing is that my abilities got us moving again."

She knew he was right, all things considered, and attempted to ask him more seriously, "That didn't wear you out?"

"It took some of it out of me considering I haven't been able to eat recently, and I haven't rested in a few days now. I may have to let Chris take over the trek for a while after he's gotten his own sleep, but I should be find to drive until morning at least."

"Still no sign of the tyrant though. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Not always," Wesker informed her. "It may mean we've lost it, but it may also mean it could pop up anywhere unexpectedly. The stop in Santa Rosa just now will define whether or not that happens."

"Then we'll have to keep our eyes open, won't we?"

Wesker narrowed his brows and looked over at her. He wasn't completely used to anything completely agreeable coming out of her mouth toward him, and after a moment, he looked back at the road again and said, "Careful, dear heart. You almost sound as if you may be warming up to me a bit."

"I'm just trying to survive, Wesker, don't confuse the issue. Also, don't call me that. I have a name, and I don't call you sunshine, so use it."

"Straightforward and practical," he pointed out, smirking. "I like that."

Cecilia lifted a brow and glanced over at him, seeing that he was still amused at least slightly, and she shook her head. Deciding not to say anything further, she laid it back on the headrest of her seat and attempted to relax and think about where they were just then as far as ammo was concerned.

The hummer moved swiftly down the highway and beyond Santa Rosa into the darkness of the night, tugging the RV along behind it and through the flat lands and dusty plains. They'd managed to make it through, only the stars in the sky keeping them company for the most part, and a satellite traveling thousands of miles beyond the atmosphere of the Earth zoomed in and focused its lenses as it passed over.

Data was being received from the imagery it was gathering, though dark on this side of the planet for the moment with the distant sun's light coming around the blue globe while it slowly turned on its axis. That data was then sent to a location less than fifty miles away, traveling to it so quickly it only took a few seconds to be downloaded into the chip that was implanted into the tyrant who stood on a high hill not far from a roadway.

The being came to a stop when it received the data, then looked ahead, able to spy the dimly glowing streetlights of the town that Chris and Wesker were leaving now from where it stood.


	26. Aftermath

_Chapter 25 - Aftermath_

_ December 3__rd__, 2007_

_ Santa Rosa, New Mexico_

_ 2:13 AM_

Inside of the RV, Chris, Regan, and Shannon were all trying to recover from their run through the lot and the street, and the scares that went along with it. Chris had checked on the ones driving the hummer, though Cecilia had been the main target of his curiosity since it had been apparent that Wesker wasn't suffering much after their ordeal. Though, Chris did wonder at his current durability and how much longer he could push on without taking a break for himself.

But he did know that Wesker would more than likely want to at least continue driving until daybreak because of the tyrant before he gave up the wheel for a while. So for now, Chris was more interested in finding out how his current companions were, and he turned around after getting off of the radio with the ones in the hummer to ask them the question.

"Hey Squirt," Chris breathed out, handing the radio back to Regan as he spoke, "what about you? Everything okay?"

Shannon was leaning with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath, and she lifted a hand and gave him a silent thumbs up. When she managed to get her voice to work, she asked, "Let's not do it again, okay?"

Chris started nodding his head in silent agreement with a tired expression on his face, still getting his breath and the rush of adrenaline down before noticing that Cecilia had left the bags of goods that she'd managed to acquire at the store in the RV, which were laying on the floor near the sectional, but he didn't pay them complete attention in that moment. Instead, he asked Shannon something that was on his mind, which was the same thing Regan was just about to ask her.

"What was that on the roof with the licker back there? What happened?"

"That's what I was about to ask," Regan breathed out, also catching her breath, though it was coming easier to them all now.

Shannon looked back and forth between them as she stood up straight finally, then asked Chris, "You said it was blind right?"

When Chris nodded at her, she went on with an explanation. "Well, I saw it being all still, and I got scared. I was trying to be quiet, but then you guys had to shoot and it started moving. So I ran."

"Yeah, but you ran _away_ from us," Chris pointed out, breathing completely regularly now, though he still felt a little wound up from all of the so-called excitement. "That's the part I don't get."

"I...I know," Shannon started. "I wasn't thinking, I was scared and I thought you guys had to keep shooting at the monsters, otherwise this wouldn't work," she explained while looking back and forth between them both. "I just ran so it wouldn't find you."

"Shannon," Regan started on a sigh of breath, and Chris looked down with a shake of his head over the story.

Shannon gave them both a scared look suddenly, asking reluctantly, "What?"

"Don't do that. Don't draw it toward you and put yourself at risk like that," Chris told her, his tone unhappy, but it didn't carry a completely angry edge. "You should've said something instead."

"But you told Alonzo—," Shannon started, but suddenly stopped when Chris shook his head head at her.

When she stopped speaking, he told her, "Alonzo has weapons, Shannon, and you don't. It was the the right idea in some cases, but that was the wrong plan. I don't want you getting hurt like that."

Shannon looked down, apparently ashamed of herself, and she whispered, "I just didn't want to lead it to you, and I was too scared to know what to do." She sounded heartbroken somehow, and she added, "I'm sorry."

"Hey," Regan started, kneeling down and pulling Shannon into a hug. "Everything happened fast, Squirt, and I know you wanted to do the right thing. But adult advice is different from kid advice, got it? You know I couldn't handle anything happening to you."

Shannon let a short groan, hugging her mother, then she stood back and reached up and tugged her bike helmet off. "I guess I...I didn't listen, did I?"

Regan didn't give a response because she'd noticed something. When Shannon had reached up to remove her helmet and pulled it off, Regan suddenly asked her, "Wait, what is this!" She took her daughter right arm gently and inspected her hand.

Shannon looked at her right hand to see blood running across her fingers and her palm. Regan let her eyes trail up to Shannon's jacket sleeve where there was a slice in the denim material not too far below her shoulder, and she went to tug the garment off with Shannon's help.

"Did something grab you?," Regan asked as they worked, and Shannon started shaking her head because even though everything had happened fast, she figured she would've remembered being grabbed. Once the jacket was gone, they saw a slice of skin on her upper arm, about two or three inches long, which was bleeding pretty freely but not too badly, and Shannon cringed suddenly.

"So _that's_ what happened," she exclaimed. "I remember feeling something on my arm kind of sharp when we ran outside, but it happened so fast and I didn't know what it was. And _now_ that I see it, it stings a little," she grumbled in addition.

"Looks like glass, probably from the window of that store," Chris spoke up, his tone confident. "Just needs to be washed off and wrapped up."

"You sure?," Regan asked them both, and she looked over and up at Chris to see his face when he nodded at her as if it were no big deal.

"I've seen enough cuts and scrapes to know if it were something else. It's just a slice of glass that look worse than it is."

Shannon pursed her lips as her mother decided to trust his experience and went to the bag she had over her shoulder where Megan had told her some band aids were stored. Once she'd managed to pull them out, she asked Chris, "Do you have any antiseptics?"

"Yeah, there's a first aid kit in the bathroom behind the mirror."

Shannon took the box from her mother with her dry hand when he said that and told Regan, "He's right, so don't worry about it, mama. I need to use the bathroom anyway. I'll be back." As she turned around and moved on, her shoulders slumped and she muttered out, "Then again, I might've already gone in my pants. Good grief."

Regan frowned despite the humor in the child's last line because she'd sounded so downtrodden, and she watched Shannon walking off dejectedly, would've followed her if it weren't for her behavior now as well considering she knew for a fact that Shannon wouldn't want to take care of the cut on her own. Instead, she let Shannon go because she knew her daughter well enough to realize that if she were truly injured, she wouldn't be acting so sadly now. Following her right off the bat would've just made her upset, and after the events earlier, Regan didn't want that to happen. So she'd give the child a minute or two alone for the time being to hopefully let Shannon collect herself after everything that had happened.

As she thought about this, she heard Chris asking her, "What about you? Everything okay?"

"I...I don't know," Regan shook her head, pushing herself up from where she'd crouched with a sigh of breath. "Shannon was almost jumped tonight and then this. I guess I'm fine, but...yeah, it's going to take my heart a couple of days to start beating normally again." She then sighed when she heard the door of the bathroom shutting, and told him after a moment, "I'm more worried about her than myself though. I know she wanted to do the right thing, she's just too young to realize what that is all of the time, and she might beat herself up over what she did tonight for a while."

"Well, I wouldn't worry too much," Chris started in response. "Shannon's tough, maybe even tougher than we are. I knew a kid just like her once, the only difference is that when she was that age, there weren't any monsters. Still, she got into her fair share of trouble and always managed to work things out somehow."

"Who?"

"My sister, Claire," Chris replied, thinking about his memories for a moment of how Claire used to be as a kid, and even a teenager. After a minute, he smirked and said, "I never told you much about her, did I?"

"No," Regan replied, shaking her head with a curious expression. "Not too much anyway."

"Well," Chris started, deciding now was the best time of any, "she's five years younger than I am, and even though most brothers protected their sisters from boys and bullies themselves, I thought it might be easiest if I taught her how to fight for herself on top of that. Guess I did that too well though because sometimes I had to protect others from _her._ Hell, I even had to protect her from herself," he added, smirking in amusement.

After a moment, he pushed himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning and headed to the refrigerator to grab one of the last bottles of water that was in there as he added, "I guess I got what I asked for when I decided to try to do that by not telling her where I was going after everything in Raccoon City. I didn't even tell her about what Umbrella had done in the Arklay Mountains because I was afraid she'd get herself involved. I just disappeared without a word in the hopes that she'd never find out about it."

"What did she do?," Regan asked after taking that in.

"She tried to follow me there when she couldn't get in touch with me and walked right into an infestation."

Regan noticed he didn't sound very happy with the event, as if maybe he blamed himself for that. "This was during the outbreak there? She's one of the survivors?"

"Yeah, she made it out with a rookie cop named Leon, and not even that stopped her from trying to find me. She got a tip that I might've been in Paris, which was true, I'd gone to investigate the Umbrella Headquarters in the city," he told Regan as he tossed the cap of the water onto the kitchen counter, then took a drink of it before he continued with the story.

Lowering the bottle, he looked back over at her and added, "But I was long gone by the time she got there. Claire ended up being taken captive by their people in Paris and transported to an island prison."

Regan listened to the fairly impressive list of troubled accomplishments and lifted a brow. "You didn't know anything about this at the time?"

"Not at first," Chris shook his head. "I heard from Leon, the guy that helped her escape Raccoon City, that she was taken captive. He was in government training at the time and I met him when I came back to the states because I'd learned that my sister was missing. There was a rumor he'd been in Raccoon City, so I went to talk to him about it. Apparently, my sister had sent him a message saying where she was and what had happened not long before I came to ask him some questions, and I followed her there. By the time I made it to the island where she was supposed to have been held prisoner, she was already in Antarctica."

"Antarctica?," Regan asked with surprise in her voice. She was starting to believe Chris was right about her getting into trouble now, asking, "How the hell did that happen?"

"Some asshole working for Umbrella managed to ship her down there. It's a long story. But I finally found her."

Regan smiled over the thought that Chris found her instead of the other way around because he'd gone missing in the first place from her point of view. "Was she alright when you did?"

Chris snorted, "Yeah, she was fine. Strung up in a web sort of and more pissed off about it than anything else."

Regan couldn't help but smirk at him over the comment because somehow it seemed fitting, saying, "Sounds like she picked up a lot from her big brother after all then."

"Good thing too," Chris groaned, shifting his fingers through the back of his hair. When he did that, Regan noticed he could use a trim and a shave, looking a good bit rough around the edges—they could all use a shower anyway for that matter. As if his mind were in the same place as hers, he sighed out the words in a change of subject, "Too bad there's not a barber shop around. This is starting to get irritating."

Chris couldn't help it, feeling as if the strands up front were too long and the ones on his back were tickling his neck too much.

"If you want, I've got scissors in my suitcase packed in the back."

Chris glanced over at Regan in consideration. "You ever cut hair before?"

"I mostly cut Shannon's hair, but I used to give Clyde and his son haircuts too. My mom was a stylist, and I never got much along the lines of a complaint, but I wouldn't call myself a professional at all."

"Sounds like I might have to take you up on that before too much longer then. I don't care how it looks, as long as it's off my neck and out of my eyes."

Typical man, Regan thought with a smirk, though she couldn't blame him for that kind of thing considering the world at large now. With a sigh of breath, she let the thought go and looked into the back at the bathroom door, then mentioned, "Well, I think Shannon's had enough time to herself now. I'm gonna go check on her, get that cut cleaned up."

Regan took a few steps toward the back and then slowed down with the words, "Oh no." She could hear something in the back of the RV, and she stepped in more quietly, listening. Chris gave her a curious look over it, and when Regan heard the sniffling more clearly, she sighed. "Shannon's crying. It's not the cut either, she just needed a minute, or so I thought. I shouldn't be surprised with everything that's happened though."

Chris listened and heard the sniffles himself, then suddenly had a thought. "Wait." He started as Regan had began to head into the back, getting her to stop and look over at him. He walked past her when she did and added, "I'll go talk to her. I have something I need to give her anyway. It might make her feel a little better."

Regan watched him heading toward the bathroom door and she asked curiously, "Have you ever consoled a little girl who's crying before?"

"My sister," he replied. "Granted, she'd usually punch me if she didn't want to be bothered though." He stopped when he was about three feet from the bed and looked back, asking Regan, "Any advice?"

"Heh," she shook her head, "just don't assume there's not some secret reason for the tears that she's not talking about. She'll tell you 'it's nothing' a lot, so you have to prod a little bit. But if she says it more than once though, she's probably not going to tell you either way it goes."

Chris took that in, then smirked and nodded in understanding before he walked on to the door. Once he was there, he lifted his fist and knocked, asking, "Hey, Shannon? You busy in there?"

"No," came the girl's voice softly through the door after a moment.

"Mind some company?"

"No, it's unlocked."

Hearing that, Chris took the knob and turned it, then poked his head in. Shannon looked up from where she was settled on the lid-covered toilet and wiped her red, tear-streaked eyes silently.

"Hey," he started. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"No, I'm not using the bathroom, I'll let you—," she stopped when Chris lifted a hand as if to say she didn't need to get up and watched him step further inside of the room.

"No, no need for that. I don't have to go." He shut the door behind himself and then looked back over at her, seeing that her hand and arm were still streaked with blood. He remembered Regan said she probably hadn't worked on it yet, but he figured she might've at least cleaned it off.

"You haven't patched that up yet?"

"I...no," she sighed out softly. "It doesn't hurt. I was just...I just wanted to be alone for a few minutes."

Chris gave a slow nod or two, letting the thought go for the moment as he stepped over and tugged something out of his pouch. Shannon looked as he held out his hand at then item laying in his palm. "Maybe these will make you feel better. I hope they're the kind you needed."

"Batteries?," she asked, and then saw the label said Double A. Suddenly she remembered her PSP and gasped before she cast a pair of wide green eyes up at him. "Where did you get them!"

Chris settled them on the counter of the sink and then grabbed some of the toilet tissue, an item which he randomly hoped Cecilia had managed to get a new pack of in the store because they were running low now. With it in hand, he opened the cabinet behind the mirror and grabbed the first aide kit inside, then turned around and sat on the side of the tub before he answered her.

"They had some at the school and Alonzo gave me a pack of them. I just forgot to give them to you before we left. Guess that didn't matter with everything that happened."

Shannon started nodding her head, and she started to say, "Thanks, Chris," but then got quiet and looked down into her hands. Suddenly, she started sniffling more than she had been, and Chris frowned over the sounds and gave a perplexed expression when she wasn't looking. He'd hoped the batteries might make her feel better, but now she was crying even more than before. Had he done something wrong?

Being bad at this kind of thing, he turned to sit the first aide kit down next to himself while Shannon let a hiccup out, and then grabbed another wad of toilet tissue, handing this one to her so she could use it to blow her nose. After she'd taken it in her left hand, he gently took her right wrist and began to wipe up the blood trails before he attempted to say anything at all.

"Don't cry, Shannon. I know you got into trouble back on the roof, but—," and he stopped when she started shaking her head.

"That's not why I'm crying."

Chris wad definitely confused, unable to help that, but he then remembered what Regan had told him about the fact that she was probably crying over something not-so-obvious that she might not want to talk about. With the notion in mind, he asked her, "What is it then?"

"It's kind of stupid," she said, dabbing her eyes with the tissue he'd given her before adding, "and you might not get it."

"Try me," Chris challenged her, wiping up more of the blood on her arm. That kind of line usually worked with Claire, so he hoped it would have the same effect on Shannon now.

Shannon hesitated, watching him wiping the blood away from her arm, obviously deciding whether or not she wanted to take him up on the offer. Finally, she let a low sigh of breath out, giving in before she pushed some of her red locks of hair behind her ears with her left hand, and then began to speak.

"Before we left the school, I asked mama about my real dad. I...had a dream, and it made me curious. But Mama wouldn't tell me anything."

She hiccuped and blew her nose into the tissue with those words spoken, then tossed it into the trashcan near the end of the counter where the sink was located and added, "I...I think it's because she doesn't want to tell me that he didn't want me either, like my grandma and grandpa didn't want me. Only Clyde and Linda wanted me, and my mama," Shannon's voice broke on a sob, and as she tried to control her emotions, she added, "and she's all I have left now."

Chris finished with cleaning her arm up by the time she was done talking, and took in a deep breath. Knowing what happened with Regan and Shannon's father, it wasn't his place to tell Shannon and he knew the girl wasn't likely to understand it anyway. But he didn't feel right about just saying _well, she'll tell you when you're older_, and not giving her something else to try to make her feel better, so he attempted to do that.

But first, he grabbed the peroxide and wet some gauze from the first aid kit with it, then pressed it over the cut on her upper arm gently. Despite that gentleness, Shannon cringed and started to kick her legs a few times where she sat on the lid covered toilet seat while hissing out the words, "I hate you I hate you I hate you, you suck!"

"Sorry, Squirt," Chris apologized, continuing to hold it there despite his apology since it had to be cleaned up.

"Not you!," she gasped out. "The cut! It stings! Ah!" She cringed, then rushed out the words, "Mama told me to cuss it like it's cussing me, and sometimes it helps!"

"Oh, right, got it," he nodded, trying not to smile too much over the way Regan told her to handle the pain of a cut. Sounded like it made sense, and Chris would know. He'd done it enough times himself in the past.

Still holding the peroxide soaked gauze in place over her cut and trying to keep the blood from running out so freely, he got his mind off of it and decided on what he wanted to tell her in response to her worries about her real father, well, once she was done dealing with the stinging pain in her arm. After a moment, he pulled the reddened gauze away to replace it with a fresh one.

As he did this, she seemed more relieved, and he wet another gauze with the peroxide and said, "I'll be honest Shannon, your mom told me about the guy who's, well, technically your father. I can't tell you for her though, she has to make that decision because it's her story to share with you herself, and she's your mother."

After he said that, he saw Shannon looking up at him curiously, and he added, "I know you probably feel cheated that I know when you don't, but don't be mad at her for it. There's some things that this guy did to your mom that she doesn't want to tell you about when we're all hanging on for our lives and heading to Dallas. She knows it'll take you a while to really understand it, and you don't need to think about it while we're still out here."

Shannon looked as if she understood what he was trying to say to her, watching him working on her cut while she let his words sink in. After a moment, she asked him, "You think she'll tell me when we get to Dallas then?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly, leaving the gauze on her arm for a moment so he could grab some tape when he realized it wasn't bleeding all that much anymore. "I don't know if she'll tell you then, or when you're old enough to understand, and as for whether or not he wanted you, I honestly couldn't say. I never met the guy, and I don't know anything about him besides what Regan said to me. I also can't imagine how your grandparents gave you up without feeling guilty about it."

As he taped the bandage in place on her arm, Shannon told him, "Mama said she was too young so they made her give me away."

"Maybe, but they took her choice from her, and that's not right, even if she _was_ young when she had you. She said she didn't _want_ to give you up."

"That's what I thought too," Shannon whispered and nodded at him. "I guessed they just didn't like me. Then, I did what I did on the roof, and it was wrong," as she said those words, a few more tears started to gather in her eyes that she bravely tried to control before she added, "I should've run to you both instead of running to the helicopter. And now..."

When Shannon trailed, Chris let her have her newly bandaged arm back and narrowed his brows at her. "Now what?"

Shannon nearly started sobbing again and she shook her head, whispering, "It's nothing."

Chris reminded himself that she was young and either too scared or embarrassed to just spit it out right away. Not to mention Regan had said she'd do this and that she needed a little prodding. So he reached over and put a hand on her back slowly, asking, "You sure?"

Shannon bit her lip, then looked at him. Finally, she wiped her eyes and said, "I told you at the school that I could listen, but I made a mistake. If I keep doing that, you won't..."

Chris got a knowing look on his face. He didn't need her to finish. He did it for her. "I won't want you around anymore."

She started nodding her head and wiped her cheek again. Chris couldn't help but shake his head at her in turn, and he let out a little breath and then smirked when he made up his mind on what to do next. Now that she was all patched up, he reached over and grabbed a new tissue from the roll for her, then grabbed her sides and lifted her to pull into his lap, saying, "Com'ere, Squirt."

Once she was settled there, he handed her the tissue and then looked at her for a few minutes while thinking about what what he needed to say. Shannon waited patiently, and dabbed at her eyes again with the tissue he'd grabbed for her. She didn't have to wait too long before he started speaking.

"I'm not your father or anything, Shannon, and hell if I know how to be one honestly, I won't lie to you about that. I've spent most of my life fighting and trying to survive, and I don't know if that makes me a good person to be around children or not. My sister's the one who's good with kids, not me, and you remind me a lot of her when she was your age. But I don't see there coming a time when I won't want to have you around anymore. You're a good kid, and if I had a daughter, I'd want her to be as smart and tough as you are. "

Shannon looked embarrassed over the lines, which didn't seem to suit her personality too often, but she'd reached up and rubbed her cheek, cutely drawing out the word, "Stop it," lowly.

He chuckled in response to the way she'd said that, asking, "What?"

She hesitated, but then finally said, "Chris," and slowly looked up at him. It took her a minute, but she finally admitted softly, "It's kinda embarrassing, but...I kinda wish you _were_ my dad. You'd be really good at it. You remembered my batteries and everything. Taylor always forgot stuff."

"Taylor?" Chris couldn't remember hearing that name before.

"Yeah, he was my mom's boyfriend for a while. He was nice, but forgetful. So you'd make a good father."

Chris sighed out a breath over the insinuation, thinking about it for a minute. The words made an impact in a flattering kind of way. What he'd told her was true too—if he had a daughter, he'd like for her to be like Shannon was, but he'd never gotten a chance to decide on having a kid or not yet. Hell, for that matter, he'd never been serious enough about a girlfriend to even ask to get married to begin with. Work was always in the way, and in recent years after his last relationship ended when time between them was stretched too thin because he was always gone off somewhere on some kind of operation, Chris had resigned himself to the idea that he would probably never get married because he was just too damned busy.

So having kids? Even less likely a possibility, and somehow, he felt like this, sitting with Shannon and talking to her about things now, was probably as close as he'd ever get to being an actual parent.

Finally, he looked back at her, and something in him couldn't stop him from smiling at her. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Shannon finally smiled back, then she leaned up and hugged him. He smirked, returning the hug to her without qualm. It was nice, and he was glad to have something that simple and real, something that proved not everything had gone to shit just yet. She'd said he'd make a good father, and maybe someday he still would. Chris definitely felt like that was a compliment.

The hug was meaningful, and after a moment, Chris let Shannon sit back. When she did, she informed him, "That's what I dreamt about actually. It was weird. We were playing poker and talking about who my dad was."

"Poker?," Chris asked, sounding genuinely amused over the thought of her doing such a thing.

"Yeah!," Shannon nodded. "Clyde played all the time. It was like you were him, but still you."

"That does sound weird. But I dream about a lot of weird," he stopped, then substituted his impending foul language with the word, "_stuff_ myself."

Shannon snickered as if she knew what he'd been about to say, and she shrugged her shoulders as if it were no big deal. "Yeah, it happens. By the way, do you really play poker?"

Chris nodded at her in response. "Yeah, I've played it a lot before, but not too much recently. Why?"

Suddenly, Shannon grinned at him. "If we ever get a deck of cards, it's gonna be on!"

_2:55 AM_

The bathroom door opened up after Chris and Shannon had been in there talking for a short bit, and Regan looked from where she'd been sitting on the bed with a photo album in her hand and saw Shannon emerging from the bathroom with Chris not far behind her.

Smiling when she saw that Shannon wasn't crying anymore, and in fact looked pretty content, she asked, "How'd everything go? Is your arm alright?"

Shannon held out her hand and showed Regan the batteries Chris had given her, saying, "It's good, and look, mama! Chris got me some batteries so my PSP will work. It'll get me out of your hair when you're busy," she nodded knowingly with a grin on her face.

Regan started snickering over the insinuation. "I see that. More game time huh?"

"Yep! Not that I have many games, but the two I do have are fun."

Shannon had walked over to the bed and sat down on it next to her mother, letting out a yawn. When Regan saw it, her motherly instincts kicked in and she said, "You know, we all need to wash up and get some rest. It's extremely late."

"Yeah, I know," Shannon nodded her head. "Should I get our pajama's, and you can get some water?"

Standing and settling the photo album that she'd been looking through down on the mattress, Regan looked at Chris and asked, "You think there's enough water left in this thing to go around?"

Chris, who was starting to feel weary himself, replied with the words, "Yeah. I never used the bathroom in here much before you guys came along. There should still be a good bit left to go around before we have to stop using it. I'll check the meters tomorrow when I get the chance to."

"Good, because I feel grungy," Regan replied, deciding not to mention that their companions probably did as well just then because she didn't think it was completely necessary. "Alright, Squirt, get us something out to sleep in and I'll get the water started up."

"Okay," Shannon replied and went over to the suit case that was open on the bed, where the photo album Regan had been looking through came from. The book was still open, and Chris looked at the picture to see a man and a woman standing side by side with two children in front. The man was tall with a balding head of dark hair and a slender pair of glasses on his refined face. The woman next to him was blonde, and shorter with shoulder length, curly hair and a thin stature, almost as thin as Chris's Aunt Tracy was.

They were both smiling and had a young man standing between them with short black hair who was holding onto a redheaded toddler that was wearing a light blue dress with flowers printed on it and had an big, open mouthed grin on her round face. It was one of those expressions a child could give that could make almost anyone crack a smile.

Chris did just that, telling Shannon, "You look like you had too much sugar that day."

Shannon looked back at him suddenly, her expression confused until he pointed at the picture. When she looked down and saw it, she pulled the book up and gave the picture a once over before she exclaimed, "I do not!"

Chris just grinned at her, and when she saw the look, Shannon rolled her eyes as if to tell him she knew now he was teasing her, which got him to chuckle. Rather than continue poking fun at her over it though, he asked, "So, those are your foster parents?"

"Yeah, that's them and me when I was three I think. Oh! And that's my brother Tommy too, he's a lot older than me."

Regan had walked back in, the sound of running water coming out of the bathroom now, filling the tub up for their baths. When she saw the picture Shannon had just settled down onto the bed, she smiled, saying, "Tommy wasn't in Edgemont when we got there. We heard he went to Las Vegas for a weekend stay, so we're hoping maybe he managed to get somewhere safe."

Chris briefly wondered if the young man might've still been alive somewhere when Las Vegas was one of the targets of the missiles so the infection would've spread pretty fast there, but that was anyone's guess really, just like with his sister. He pushed the thoughts out of his head however, feeling oddly relaxed in that moment somehow, and focused instead on Shannon when she climbed off the bed and asked, "Mama, did you want the blue tank top or the pink? Which one's more comfortable?"

"The blue one, Squirt, thanks," she smirked, then took the clothing choices from her daughter and turned to head into the bathroom while Chris decided to go stretch out on the couch and let the ladies soak for a bit, telling them on the way that he'd be there incase they needed something.

Chris sat down on the sectional, thinking about things, and it didn't take too long before they were done with the tub. When he heard the words stating the bathroom was free, Chris decided to use it. After all, like Regan had mentioned, he felt, well, funky was a good word for it as any for it, and he knew he wasn't going to sleep that easily anyway. He usually never did after getting out of a tight spot like they had earlier. So he went into the bathroom and started getting himself cleaned up.

The water cascading down from the shower he opted to take rather than a bath was relaxing, and Chris just stood there for a long while without moving, back against the wall, hair being washed straight down over his forehead in the streams the shower created with nothing in mind but memories, some distant that seemed recent and easy to recall, and others he wanted to remember that were just too vague for his tastes.

The mirror above the sink was fogged over from the heated water until he swiped his hand across it, ready to shave and brush his teeth. Looking down to find the electric razor he'd had in the RV since the mandatory vacation he'd taken when the world went to hell in a hand basket, he noticed two toothbrushes that weren't his, including a tube of toothpaste that was for children and was starting to get low, bubblegum flavored apparently.

He smirked over it and continued with shaving and brushing his own teeth, considering himself fortunate enough to have survived the outbreaks so far with a toothbrush to use at least. Hell, maybe being on vacation was what had saved his life _this_ time around. If no one else had even the slightest inclination the attacks were coming—the BSAA, CIA, or any other agency—then he would've been just as lost as the next person over what the hell was going down. But he was at a lakeside retreat instead. Now that he thought about it, he'd probably been sitting on the lake fishing when the damned missiles had been fired.

If he hadn't gone on vacation, he would've been investigating some reports that had come in from Europe about possible bioweapons smuggling, maybe even been there when the missiles were launched. Italy, he thought. Probably the only place in the world he could go to and feel like he was on vacation while he was working. He'd say it was nice this time of year, but hell, Italy was nice year round as far as he was concerned.

The bathroom door opened to a dark bedroom a few minutes later, and Chris quietly stepped out in a clean pair of gray cargo pants and a white t shirt, his chin a good bit more bare than it'd been before, though his hair was still in need of a trim. Quietly, he looked over at the two women asleep in the bed to make sure he hadn't disturbed them, and noticed they were both passed out. Or at least, Shannon was definitely asleep, otherwise her mouth wouldn't have been hanging open like it was, a sleepy expression that amused Chris. She was laying next to her mother on her back, and she looked comfortable enough.

With Regan, it was harder to tell, but she didn't move when he'd opened the door and then turned out the light in the bathroom, so maybe she was asleep too. It was a nice sight, the two of them safe and well, and after everything that had happened that evening, Chris was happy to be able to see it. He'd lost too many people over his lifetime to not appreciate something that simple, and he walked into the kitchen and headed to the sectional with those thoughts in mind.

God knew he'd gone through worse aftermaths than this, such as the one after he'd thought Jill had died. He didn't consider that now either because he was feeling tranquil on the inside just then and didn't want to ruin it with guilt or anger. Besides, he'd find Jill soon enough now, and those particular ghosts of his past could finally be put to rest, or at least, calmed for a bit.

Laying back across the sectional, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift, knowing he was either going to sleep hard, or he wasn't going to sleep at all after the events earlier. Maybe it was because of how much he'd been through numbing him, or the quiet ride with the hum outside of the RV as the hummer it was hitched to pulled it across the road, or maybe it was the company he was keeping with Regan and Shannon being so peaceful, but he fell asleep without too much trying and slept like a rock.

It was something that Chris was thankful for because it seemed like the aftermath of an ordeal could be harder to deal with than what he'd gone through beforehand. Soon they'd cross into Texas finally, and he hoped that the ride to the border in the very least would go smoothly before anything else popped up for them to deal with.


	27. Interrogation

_Chapter 26 - Interrogation_

_ December 3__rd__, 2007_

_ Ison's Penitentiary, Forth Worth, Texas_

_ 8:30 AM_

Lindsey wasn't her real name.

Leon was sitting in the penitentiary that Governor Benning's secretary, Lindsey Erston. had been sent. Hunnigan had gotten information for Leon about the woman's background, but it had actually taken her a little time to track down, something that surprised Leon. She called him back two hours after he'd initially asked her to run the woman's name through her database, and told him she'd double checked all of her sources to make sure she was right, but she'd finally found the birth records.

She was born under the name Meredith Schuler, who disappeared from sight approximately sixteen years prior to the current date. Her job back then had been the same as it was now, a secretary, but instead of working for government officials, she worked for some of Umbrella's key personnel.

Leon didn't go to see her until the next morning after he'd learned this information, and she was brought into the room in a standard issue prison jumpsuit at precisely 8:30 while he was waiting at a table in an interrogation room. The walls were bare, there were only two doors, and beside the table where he sat was a one way mirror. A camera was mounted in one corner of the room, and the brunette inmate didn't struggle as she was brought along with the prison guard. She only sat down when the chair was pulled out for her and then allowed herself to be locked into place with the handcuffs hanging from the belt she wore.

After all, anyone found with a sample of a viral agent on them in this day and times was given special attention.

Leon watched the guards getting her settled in so to speak, and then left her to him so they could have their chat. He stayed silent until the door was shut and they were alone, then looked across the table at Lindsey—or Meredith—who was already watching him with blue eyes that didn't seem to have any malice in them, only curiosity and perhaps even despair, a look Leon was all too familiar with.

"I guess you know my real name now, don't you?," she asked.

Sometimes it was hard to tell whether or not a person under investigation was trying to throw their questioners off, but that question didn't hit Leon as being anything but sincerely curious, though he did wonder why she'd so freely asked it.

"Should I call you Meredith or Lindsey?," Leon asked her in a simple response.

"Pick one," she informed him without reservation. "I've gotten used to Lindsey, but it doesn't really matter."

"Alright, Meredith," Leon replied. "Then yes, I found out more information about your past."

"Including who I worked for."

"That too," Leon nodded. "You seem like you're eager to talk about it."

"Not specifically," she replied, bringing up her handcuffed hands to settle on the table across one another in a proper manner despite her handcuffs, her face as blank as it could have possibly been. "But I will because I know you won't understand anything about what happened yesterday unless I do."

"What do I need to understand?," Leon asked as if he already knew all he needed to know, and he did so on purpose. "You tried to infect five people in a quarantined zone, myself included, and four of the more important individuals in America currently. Seems like a blatant assassination attempt to me."

"You could call it that, but it wasn't blatant," she shook her head slowly, then let out a low sigh of breath. "You know I worked for Umbrella sixteen years ago, and you know what Umbrella was. Deceitful, sneaky, underhanded, cloak and dagger, nothing is what it seems."

"Very true," he agreed with her. "So start at the beginning, why change your name?"

"Why do you think?," she asked pointedly.

"So they couldn't find you?"

"Yes," Meredith replied with a nod of her head. "Umbrella didn't let those who'd seen how their inner offices worked go without a price, the _ultimate_ price, and I wasn't willing to pay that. I'd worked for Umbrella since I was fifteen years old, eventually got promoted from lobby receptionist to personnel director, and then to an executive assistant, fancy way of saying head office secretary, when I was twenty years old. Seemed like a great opportunity for someone so young. I stayed in that office for six years, handling files and schedules, all kinds of papers that had all kinds of dirty secrets on them."

Leon let that sink in when she grew silent but he never looked away from her, listening as she continued on with her story.

"In fact, the longer I was there, the darker those secrets got. It's amazing how far their reach went as well. I managed to pay for some vacation time for my mother and I to visit Europe not long after I was promoted. She was all the family I had, and I hadn't been at my new position for too long when we went, but long enough to know some things. I mentioned my uneasiness to my mother while we were on vacation when she told me it was nice that the company I worked for could afford such a large holiday bonus that allowed us to go visit where we did."

It sounded too commonly ominous for Leon. "Let me guess," he started when Meredith got quiet, his tone certain. "Not long after you got back to America, you mother died of _mysterious causes_."

Meredith started nodding her head slowly. "Their way of keeping me quiet. I knew then that I wouldn't just walk away from that job with my life, and they knew I knew it too. Everyday became full of paranoia, looking over my shoulders, and I decided to pull off a disappearing act. Wasn't easy to do, took me a few years to plan out where no one could follow me, but I finally managed it and got out from under their sights."

"Benning never knew about this, did he?"

"No. His son hired me first, and that's how I met Benning. Because I'd worked for his son, he didn't bother with a background check, and even if he had, I'd gotten forgeries."

Well, that explained _some_ things, but not all of them. Leon sat back and asked her afterwards, "Then what? Did someone finally catch up to you?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"A manner of speaking?"

Meredith sighed. Looking down at her hands crossed on the table, she explained, "I started getting notes left on my desk at Benning's office in Atlanta saying things like I know who you really are, and I know what you know. One of them even asked if I knew Meredith Schuler. That told me that whoever was leaving the notes there knew about my past, and if they blew the whistle, I'd lose my life. Umbrella was gone by the time this started happening, so I didn't know _who_ was behind the notes, but I did know that even if Umbrella was gone, there were still names of people who were living that I couldn't speak of or I'd be dead."

Made sense. Even though Umbrella had bit the big one, there were still players in the bioterror game leftover from their so-called rule who wouldn't want someone like this woman here as a loose end blowing a whistle on them.

So Leon asked, "No one ever contacted you personally?"

"Not at first. Eventually I was told where to be and what to do if I wanted to live one night. They had me go to a corner of two roads and wait at the bus stop there at a certain time or Benning would get a copy of my old Umbrella identification card on top of a few other nasty things happening to me. So I did without a choice, and I waited for what seemed like hours and hours before anyone finally showed up."

Leon listened carefully, then asked, "Who showed up?"

"I don't know," she shook her head, looking back up at Leon and shrugging. "It was a man, and he was tall, but he was wearing a hat and a high collar coat, and it was too dark to see his face. He approached me from where the streetlight was behind him so his face was shadowed out. All he did was hand me a package and told me to open it when I got back to my hotel room, and he never stopped walking."

"When I got there, I opened the package and found a metal case inside of it shut with a latch. So I flipped the latch to open it and heard a computerized beep sound as soon as I did. When I pulled the lid open, there was a note laying on top of some kind of device that had a virus vial connected to it. I panicked and tore open the note, which said I had two choices. I could keep the box, or I could get rid of it, but it was on a timer of half an hour before it would detonate which started the moment I tugged the box open."

Leon let out a low sigh of breath. Sounded morbidly typical of some psychotic terrorist trying to cause an outbreak. He also felt he knew exactly when this might've happened, and though he was sure of the answer, he asked the question anyway. "When was this?"

"November fifteenth, this year."

The day the missiles were fired and the outbreaks started. "I'm assuming you got rid of the virus."

"Yes. I drove to try to get outside of the city and tossed it into a dumpster, and on the way back, I thought about giving an anonymous tip to the local police that I'd seen some kind of device in a dumpster because I was hoping they might be able to disable it, but it wouldn't be long before the damned thing went off and released the virus, and there wouldn't have been anything they could have done about it but get infected. Not too long later, I started hearing reports of outbreaks everywhere, but not in Georgia in specific, so I knew I wasn't the only one who'd been used like that."

Leon didn't make a comment on the story right away. Instead, he asked her, "What about yesterday then? How did you get the orders and the virus to pull _that_ stunt off?"

"I got a call actually, and they told me where to find the samples."

Leon let out a soft sigh. He needed names and locations, and she wasn't giving him any. Yet, anyway. Still, he had to remind her of something very important, something that didn't quite add up to her story so far, and he didn't hesitate. "You do realize how much of the world's gone to hell now, don't you? Why protect a job you'd likely have secured? Why attempt to kill your boss, and more importantly, why do that and tell me everything _now_?"

"Because when I found the samples, I also found a few pictures of myself in the hotel with the device, then leaving the hotel on the night of the outbreak from whoever set this up, and some of the after shots of what happened at the dumpster I'd tossed it into with the garbage collectors not long later taken by satellite. You probably even know the place I'm talking about. Garden City, Georgia."

Leon remained silent. His agency _had_ tracked one of the outbreaks on the eastern seaboard to Savannah, which where Garden City was located, so it didn't seem as if Meredith was just whistling Dixie so to speak. She went on to tell him that, "They would've used them against me to make it look like I had a hand in the putting the world into the state it's in now. While that may be true, I was blackmailed and didn't have a choice, whether what I did was a mistake or not. Either way, that thing was going to blow up in half an hour from when I opened it, and I did what I had no other choice in doing with it if I wanted to live and sever ties to it that would make it look like I'd infected a hotel. So job or not, the world's in a shitty state as it is, and I had no one to turn to, whether Benning died or what."

Leon believed her. He didn't have a reason not to, and she hadn't been hard to deal with either. Her story made sense, Garden City and Savannah had been hit hard, and while he didn't mention it to Meredith, Leon had read reports that other devices like the one she'd described _had_ been recovered by various people. So she was a pawn like so many were, fear was used against her, and she'd been controlled with it. On top of all of this, Leon remembered seeing her leaving the office, remembered seeing how much she'd been sweating and how nervous she was. It just made sense.

He'd looked over at the one way mirror in the room, and when he did, Meredith looked with him, then back. After a moment, she told him, "I have a bartering chip, something I'll give you in exchange for protection while I'm here." When that got Leon's attention, she went on to add, "I know it seems like a lot to ask, and hell, I don't even know if you believe me, but it might be worth your while."

Leon watched her for a moment after she'd spoken, wondering what might be worthwhile and what wouldn't. Still, she was right about her life being at potential risk in the penitentiary, so he said, "Hold that thought."

Meredith didn't try to stop him as he stood up and turned to head to the door. Leon shut it behind himself and walked around to the next door down the hallway, the observation room on the other side of the mirror, and he opened it and past two guards in doing so on the way in. There was only one person on the other side of the door, settled at a desk with a computer at her disposal, and though she wasn't someone Leon had never met in person before, this _was_ only the second time he'd ever seen her face to face.

"She's right about Garden City, Leon," Hunnigan pointed out to the computer screen she was sitting behind. "Here's a list of places where satellite imagery was taken from before we lost control, listed right here as an original site, though a device was never recovered from there probably because of the transportation it went through in the dump truck that picked it up the next morning."

"I believe her, Hunnigan," Leon replied as he looked at the computer screen over her shoulder. "The only question is what kind of information she might provide now, whether or not it's trustworthy. I know I don't have to tell you this, but you'll need to look everything up as soon as she says it, get it all compiled. Also, I need you to get on a wire to General Redfield. If she wants protection in return for this information, he'll have to know about it."

"Of course," Hunnigan nodded, then looked up and over her shoulder at Leon, suggesting, "It may be wise to transport her to a more secured location anonymously, or even report her death here."

"We'll talk about that later," Leon said with a nod in her direction. "I'm going to go back and see what she has to say now."

Hunnigan watched him leaving, and then looked ahead to see him reentering the interrogation room only a moment later. With a soft sigh of breath, Hunnigan went back to her computer while she listened carefully, getting herself set up to search for any names and locations that Meredith might mention to Leon in the meantime.

Leon walked across the room and settled back down in his chair, saying, "I had to make sure your request for protection was put in. You should know how resources are strained right now though, not to mention you worked for Umbrella sixteen years ago and things have changed since then."

"Maybe, but the names are still the same, and probably worth something. Besides, I'm in here because of them, and you," she muttered. "But half of me is grateful you found out before anyone could get hurt again."

"What about the other half?"

Meredith shrugged, "Does it matter? I'm in here and the world's ending because of me. Even if I'm pissed off that I'm in here, you could head out tomorrow and get eaten by a zombie, so why hold a grudge?"

"That's practical of you, I'm flattered," Leon told her with a good bit of sarcasm in his tone. "So then tell me what kind of information you found out about."

Meredith looked down and put her hands in her lap, saying, "There were all kinds of things like experimentation on people, kidnapping, murder, used for all sorts of endeavors. Most of what I saw at first were the names of the ones considered to be possible wild cards, the ones Umbrella wanted to silence. I didn't even know it for certain at first but I came around eventually. Like I said before, the longer I was there, the darker they got, probably because I never opened my mouth, and no one ever talked about it either like it was just a commonplace thing to see. Soon the papers were covering viral injections, DNA splicing, cloning, genetic mutation, and appointments to be kept for the procedures."

Sounded right up their alley, Leon thought for a moment. But he didn't say anything over it, and Meredith continued with her story on her own. "I wasn't expected to look all of the papers I came across over though, and I tried not to, but I knew I'd seen enough already so it didn't matter how much more information I got. One night I was at a holiday banquet where the upper management had gathered, and suddenly, I'm being told to go up to the office and shred the file folder on the desk and all it's contents for them. I did my job, headed up to the office and unlocked it, and grab the folder and the shredder.

"I sit down behind my boss's desk, and start to open the folder, and decided to look the pages over before I destroyed them. None of it was truly incriminating, most of that kind of evidence was all in electronic files, but knowing what I knew, I could pick out little things here and there. The worst story I remember on those pages was of Katerina Russeau, a French geneticist who'd been working on cloning test subjects for years and was the top researcher in her field. The papers in the folder had conclusive reports of several of her failed and even successful projects with cloning organs of children under the age of five, abducted and..."

Meredith trailed, taking a deep breath. Leon got the feeling that whatever she'd been about to say was too horrific for her to get out easily, but she looked back up at him after a moment and finished by saying, "Well, you get the point. Other names were Sebastian Monet, an French pathologist and geneticist, Thomas Neddleson, an American biochemist, and Micheal Forbes, an American geneticist."

Leon could only hope these names ended up giving them more information than they had already, and when Meredith stopped as if to perhaps let everything she'd said settle between them, he nodded his head at her with the simple command of, "Keep going."

She told him all she had to give, and Leon summoned the guards back in to escort her back to her cell when he felt they were done for the time being, and told one of them to make sure to stand watch close by, thinking that he didn't want to take any chances until they were sure what was to be done with Meredith.

He went walking back into the observation room where Hunnigan was afterwards, and headed to a pot of coffee that had been settled in the room that was steaming. Lifting it and pouring some into a cellophane cup before he added a packet of cream, he turned around to approach his intelligence operative still diligently working on her computer.

As he did, Hunnigan told him, "Looks like we might've hit the jackpot."

"Why is that? Did what she say pan out with the data you found?," Leon asked as he stirred the cream into the coffee he'd just poured for himself.

"Almost to a tee," she replied, still working on the information. "She left out a few details here and there, and some of these people are dead, or at least reportedly so, but overall she didn't lie."

"Then what did you find?," he inquired as he leaned on the desk next to her so he could see the screen.

"The most interesting thing I've found so far was on the first name she mentioned, Katerina Russeau. She was a French geneticist and a pathologist to boot. There's no record of death for her, and she was pretty successful in her field, focusing most of her projects on cloning human cells."

Leon read the same thing for himself and motioned to a part of the screen where he said, "Look at that, she ends up leaving Umbrella in 1998, after everything started to go bad, and her work records get sketchy after that."

"Right," Hunnigan nodded her head. "There's also Sebastian Monet who was her partner for a short while, and then Thomas Neddleson and Michael Forbes, both reported as being dead."

Leon read over the information quietly for a moment, trying to take in as much as he could. After he had, he told her, "You'll have to see about forged entries and if you can get a better idea of who's alive and who's not. Either one of these people could be behind the attacks, or have a major hand in it."

"I'll let you know as soon as I find anything worth a mention."

With a smile, the agent stood up straight and told the intelligence operative, "You always do. I'll be giving the general a visit in the meantime to let him know about all of this myself."

Leon turned away from the desk after informing her of that, heading to the door, and once he'd grabbed the doorknob, he heard Hunnigan asking, "Leon?"

"Yeah?," he acknowledged, looking back over at her.

Hunnigan was smiling as she told him, "It's nice to work with you in person for once. I was starting to think your head was actually shaped like a box in real life, so it's good to know it actually looks more normal than that."

Leon couldn't help but grin over that comment. Though they'd met in person before, this was the first time they'd _worked_ together in this manner, so he found her statement amusing. "Sounds like my bad sense of humor has rubbed off on you too."

Hunnigan was now grinning, but she finally looked over at him and shook her head, asking in a pointed fashion, "_Bad_ humor?"

"Alright, so that wasn't such a bad crack. Between you and Claire, I could learn a thing or two."

That made her start to chuckle, looking back at her research on the screen as she told him, "Go see the General, Leon, and tell Claire I said I hope she's doing well when you see her again."

"Will do, Hunnigan. I'll see you later." With those words, Leon turned to the door with a little smirk on his face and opened it, heading out and walking down the hallway, shaking his head over the discovery that his head wasn't box shaped. It was nice to have Hunnigan still on his side, he had to consider, and he just hoped that whatever she managed to find out for him in the meantime turned up something positive.


	28. Scavengers

_Chapter 27 - Scavengers_

_ December 3__rd__, 2007_

_ U.S. 60, Texas_

_ 12:02 PM_

"Oh no," Regan gasped softly.

"What?" Chris asked in response. "The words 'oh no' aren't what I want to hear when you have a pair of scissors at the back of my head."

"I'm sorry!," came her quick response.

Realization settled into Chris's head quickly when she said that. "You didn't!," He retorted and reached up to touch the spot on his head that she'd been working on trimming, realizing it was all a lie when he looked back and saw the mischievous look on Regan's face, not to mention he didn't feel any bald spots on the back of his head like he thought he might.

Regan held up her hands as if the gesture could fend off any retaliation and stepped back, trying not to laugh while Chris eyed her like he might've been summing her up for something in specific.

"So now you're playing pranks on me, huh?," he asked, nodding as if he knew her game before he smirked slightly as he sat face forward again. "Don't worry, I'll remember that."

"Don't you dare start a prank war with me, Chris," Regan replied defensively, a grin on her face despite her words. She then looked over at her daughter sitting on the sectional with her PSP, the girl playing a game and snickering softly over Chris's reaction while shaking her head, and Regan suddenly told Chris, "Shannon made me do it."

The words got the little girl to look up quickly with her mouth wide open. "I did not!," she countered without pause. "You pulled that prank on _me_ before!"

Chris sighed, asking her, "Why didn't you warn me, Shannon?"

Shannon shrugged back at him, "I forgot!"

Regan started snickering, conceding by saying, "Alright, I lied, it was _my_ idea, but you have to admit, it's funny."

"Not if you think you have a bald spot on your head!," Shannon argued, but she was still snickering, pressing the buttons on her PSP in what sounded like rapid succession suddenly.

"Agreed," Chris gave as his own opinion, and then tilted his head forward when Regan asked him to so that she could check her work.

"You're not done?," he asked.

"Just making sure it's even. I get a little obsessive about it sometimes." She informed him of that while making another snip or two before she took the towel and swiped it across his neck to pick up the stray hairs and then announced, "Okay, all good. Might not be what you're used to but at least it'll keep it under control."

The process hadn't taken too long to finish. Chris was glad for it no matter how long it had taken though because it was nice to have the hair off of his neck and out of his eyes like she'd suggested. With the announcement, he stood up and stepped away so Regan could clean the bits of his hair up off of the floor.

Regan was the first one to wake up earlier in the day, and let Shannon get some more sleep while she walked into the kitchen to see that Chris was also snoozing pretty hard on the sectional. He wasn't snoring loudly, but there was a soft grind whenever he drew breath that made her smirk, and she stayed quiet so they could both rest. She'd been halfway tempted to wake him up so he could go get into the bed though because she thought he looked too big for the couch, but Shannon was still in the bed and so Regan figured it was best to just not bother either of them.

Instead, she started shifting through the bags of goods Cecilia had looted from the bargain store in Santa Rosa. Rather than unpack all of them though—just incase they had to run somewhere and needed to take at least some of their belongings quickly—she just did a sort of inventory and organized it all, smirking over some of the things she'd found.

Cans of spaghetti-o's and other types of pasta like ravioli that were easy to fix, beans, soups, boxes of little debbie snack cakes, more noodles than there was sauce to go around for them, which looked as if Cecilia had really been grabbing as fast as possible, and jars of peanut butter as well as grape jelly, bread, and chips. In addition, there were several cans of vienna sausages, a few jars of Nutella which Regan set aside on the counter for Shannon who loved the stuff, and a box of crackers that she got the feeling were probably all broken inside of their packaging. But who cared? Food was food and they'd go perfectly on a bowl of soup.

There were also a good number of drinks, some of which Regan put into the fridge to allow time to cool off like a few varieties of Arizona Iced Tea and two six packs of soda, as well as a gallon of orange juice, something Regan didn't like to drink too much personally because it was too acidic, so she figured if anyone else did, she'd save it for them. Then there was a package of bottled water she tugged a few loose from in order to store in the refrigerator as well while leaving the rest in the duffle.

Regan was surprised, however, to find something that looked like Cecilia might've actually been grabbing a few items on purpose. It was something they didn't need in particular but was nice to have, which was a carton of cigarettes. Now Regan wasn't sure if it was prudent planning or just snatch and grab tactics on Cecilia's part. Perhaps a mixture of the two? She'd have to ask her the next chance she got.

Chris woke up not too long after Regan had been rummaging, working on their ammo which included counting and organizing it when he did. Chris asked what time it was only to find out that it was around noon and they'd been on the road for a good while by then. Regan had no clue where they were at that point though or how far they'd gotten, so Chris radioed up to Wesker and asked.

Wesker didn't have much to say aside from the fact that they'd had to backtrack on I-40 because the closer he'd gotten to the Texan border, the more congested the highway had become, but they'd finally crossed into Texas about three hours earlier. His voice was quiet as he spoke, making Chris wonder if Cecilia might've been sleeping, though he had a hard time imagining Wesker as being considerate of anyone at all.

Still, hearing they'd finally managed to make it to Texas made him feel a little better, though he knew they still had a damned long ways to go before they got to Dallas in particular and that anything could have happened between now and then. The thing was that Santa Rosa was typically an hour's drive from the border, but due to backtracking along interstate 40 which they'd been on essentially since they'd left Colorado, and abandoning it to take more of the back ways that were less populated, made it take much longer than normal.

It didn't surprise Chris since there had probably been a ton of people who'd tried to make it to Dallas and out of this mess. So he could only imagine that driving was going to become increasingly meticulous as they went on now.

Currently, they were on a smaller highway with a good bit of farmland surrounding them, which included farmhouses here and there that got Regan unsettled in particular due to where she'd been when Chris had found her. She swore up and down they were going to break down and get stuck in another one while Chris sat down to help her with the ammo.

They wound up with a total of seventeen shotgun shells, six clips of handgun ammo with ten shots in each, the vest of grenades that Wesker had lifted from the undead police officer the night before, and a total of 14 rounds for Regan's rifle. Chris ended up asking over the radio how much handgun ammunition Wesker and Cecilia had between them, and Wesker was nearly out. He had three shots left in his handgun after last night and no extra clips. Cecilia, on the other hand, had five shots left total.

So Chris divided it all up though he didn't relish the thought of giving Wesker any of it, deciding he'd just put it into Cecilia's hands to do. Since he was also the only one with a shotgun, he kept all of the shotgun shells for himself and reloaded that weapon, then let Regan keep the rifle ammo since she was the only one who had such a weapon herself.

When they were done counting the and splitting up the ammo, Chris let Regan give his hair a welcome trim. The end result was still somewhat thick, a little bit different than what he was used to like she'd suggested it might be, but Regan didn't have an electric cutter, only a pair of shears and she did a fair enough job with them. Chris didn't care anyway—just having it off his neck and out of his face was what he wanted.

As he'd stood once the haircut was done and Regan started working to clean the area up behind him, Shannon looked up from her PSP to give him something of a once over. He smirked when he saw her considerate expression while dusting his arms off, then watched her nod in approval. "You look good cleaned up and shaved! It looks funny without the beard, but I think it looks better like this."

"Me too, and thanks, I don't normally keep a lot of facial hair to begin with," he replied. Chris didn't mind a beard, but he felt old enough as it was. He didn't want to become his friend Barry Burton after all, he considered with some inward amusement and could hear Barry grumbling in his head if he'd been told that line in particular.

"You're welcome!" Shannon replied through Chris's thoughts. "But you've still got some stub on your chin," she pointed out as he turned and sat down near her on the gray sectional.

"Well, what can you do with an old, blunt razor? If it'd been sharp, I would've cut myself ten times, so I'll take a bit of scruff over that."

Shannon snickered and then looked up and out of the window when they all felt the RV coming to a stop. Curiously, she asked, "Why are we stopping?"

"Maybe we need fuel. Wesker would've said something if there was a problem."

Chris let a sigh and stood up to go check, not completely believing the comment he'd made to Shannon even though he'd said it, but the view from the front window of the RV proved he was right when he saw both Cecilia and Wesker exiting the vehicle while Cecilia went to grab a canister of gas from the backseat of the car.

"I'll be back," he told Regan and Shannon before he went to the door of the RV and stepped outside, finding Cecilia handing Wesker the canister before she turned and started heading toward Chris and the RV.

"Need a rest break," she said on the way, and Chris didn't stop her from going inside. Once she had, he looked around the area, which was nothing but grassy plains and farmland for as far as the eye could see, and then over at Wesker when the man began to speak to him.

"We're sixty miles outside of Lubbock, Chris. We have two canister's of gasoline left, and carrying the RV makes it burn faster. You may want to keep this in mind since we've actually crossed into Texas now."

Chris took those thoughts into his head and simply asked, "Anything else?"

"Yes, there's a good number of small towns and populated areas that lay ahead of us. It will make things more difficult to navigate through, which you will need to be aware of while driving."

"Is that why you stopped besides filling her up?," Chris asked, his tone only halfway curious. "Need a break?"

"After last night's events topped with the fact that I haven't eaten," Wesker started, "yes, it would do me some good to get a bit of food and some rest."

It made sense, but Chris was a little more interested in the implication of the words, saying, "So you _do_ sleep then."

"Only when it's strategically allowable," Wesker responded, glancing over at him through the shades he was once again wearing in the daylight hours before he added, "otherwise I don't bother."

Chris rolled his eyes and let out a sigh of breath. He wasn't even certain he could believe Wesker on _that_ much. For all he knew, any insight he could get into how the man functioned during this trip that might tip him off on how to more easily handle his super human abilities was all a clever rouse on Wesker's part in order to trip him up. Chris knew the man wouldn't tell the complete truth in any event.

It was a cold day out without a jacket on, something Chris noticed pretty quickly despite his curiosities, getting his mind away from Wesker's abilities completely. Being so close to the beginning of winter, he suddenly wondered what that might mean for the infection traveling the globe now. Would the cold slow it down? He knew it would at least slow the monsters down, or the average zombies anyway, but as for the virus itself, Chris had no idea. With the thought in mind, he looked back at Wesker who was tugging the canister from the fuel tank and asked since the former researcher was so damned knowledgeable about it. Chris figured he may as well put that knowledge to use anyway.

"Out of curiosity, since you know so much about it," he started, then motioned his head up toward the clear sky as he asked, "the virus going around. What's the best environment for it to spread the slowest?"

"Cold," Wesker replied without hesitation. "The T Virus adapts rather well to various temperatures, but it has always been fairly dependent upon its hosts to pass itself on, and zombies are slower in the cold as I am sure you have noticed." Wesker then finished screwing the cap onto the hummer's gas tank and shut the cover.

Following that, he looked back over at Chris through his shades and added, "Of course, it's becoming winter in the northern hemisphere, but in the southern, summer is approaching. Still, locally the cold weather should be on our side in making it to Dallas if that is what you are asking."

Now Chris knew. With a shrug, he informed Wesker, "Yeah, that's one reason. I'm also asking because hearing you talk about it reminds me of one of the reasons why I hate you so much."

"Yes, that _is_ a benefit. It seems we have become somewhat soft in the past few days."

"Yeah, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you might've _cared_ by getting the bus out of the way," Chris spoke on a tone that said he'd thought anything _but_ that. To prove it, he added, "But then I remembered you were just using us to help yourself like always."

Wesker smirked and sarcastically drew out the words, "You know me so well, Chris. But before this pointless squabble can continue, I have more news for you. I've been trying to see if I can use Ada's PDA again in order to send any calls out. Earlier today, I actually managed to connect, and the line rang a few times, but no one ever answered."

That got Chris's attention off of their bickering completely, and his brows narrowed in a little surprise. "You got a signal that worked? Who'd you call, or should I even ask?"

"I called a basic operator service actually, no one of importance. I was merely testing the signal and thought you might want to know, especially if there happens to be someone such as you sister actually _in_ Dallas and you can relay to her where we are located."

He had a good point, as loathe as Chris was to admit that, also remembering the connection he'd gotten the night before in the helicopter which told him _someone_ was alive somewhere in the world. He kept that particular information from Wesker however because he didn't want to tell the man who he knew for a fact was still alive in the BSAA and working to put a stop to all of this. Wesker didn't need to know everything after all.

But if he'd gotten a connection on the PDA that worked, then Chris's phone would probably get one, and getting in touch with Claire not only meant finding out she had actually survived, but also that they could get out of there faster depending on the situation. Still, there was a chance for it, and it was a good idea to start trying.

But the idea roused another curiosity in Chris, and as Wesker stepped toward the backdoor of the hummer, Chris put the question to him.

"What about you?" He started, his tone serious. "You know what's going to happen when we get to Dallas if there's a civilized world left there. You'll be arrested and whatever you have planned put on hold for a long damned time."

Wesker shut the door of the hummer without climbing inside of the car and looked back over at Chris through his shades, saying as he straightened the collar of his black leather jacket, "Of course I realize that, Chris."

Chris literally watched a tumbleweed blow by to the side of the road and across it as it felt like Wesker either wasn't getting the point, or was avoiding it. Chris decided it was probably a case of the ladder and shook his head at the man, "Then what, you're just going to let yourself be arrested?"

"What choice do I have in that?" Wesker asked the question plainly before stating, "I have no access to my facilities, there's not likely to be any of my connections in Dallas, or at least I'm not banking on the possibility anyway. Even if there _are_, they may be double agents."

He sighed quietly as if that part was the most annoying one, then finished with the words, "Though I may be capable, I'm not in the position to resist such an arrest that would surely come with a helicopter big enough to evacuate the five of us to Dallas from a world infested with zombies. Which choice would _you_ rather take, Chris? Staying out here, or potentially working from within confinement in the city?"

Chris wished he could argue with that, but he knew he'd take being in captivity over staying in this shithole of a world any day. As he had the thought, the conversation suddenly got interesting.

"In fact, I would rather you finally arrest me in this situation with all things considered."

Chris's brows narrowed over his brown eyes and he looked up at the clear sky for a moment, the sun beating down on them. Wesker lifted a brow, wondering what he could've been doing when Chris looked back at him from the sky and gave him an answer.

"You must've been driving in the sun too long. Apparently it's baked your brain."

Snorting, Wesker shook his head. "As likely as that would be on a normal day, think about it for a moment if you will. I have been tracked by a tyrant, and there has to be a means by which it continually follows me."

Chris knew what he was getting at. "Satellite."

"Likely. Someone had to have gained access to a good number of satellite systems in order to accomplish this global attack to begin with, and it's likely they knew precisely where I was when the outbreaks started considering the people on the jet were paid off by an anonymous party to have me sedated. In any event, they will continue to track me, all the way to Dallas, and when I'm in confinement, who knows what kinds of visits I may get and who I may be able to weed out of this conspiracy garden. In fact, considering what I know of the suspected parties involved in manipulating these events, you may just see armed guards standing outside of my prison cell for the people entering, not the person being contained there."

Chris sighed, hating how logical the man could be, but he of all people knew that when Wesker planned and calculated, he did it as flawlessly as possible, so there was a lot to all of this that Wesker wasn't telling him. Chris knew he couldn't ask now either, though he was sorely tempted to.

Sherry Birkin for instance. Chris was familiar with her because of his sister. He knew more about William Birkin from reports, and that was why he'd forgotten his daughter's name at first, but it didn't take too much time for him to remember Claire mentioning she'd escaped with Sherry Birkin in Raccoon City before she'd followed him to Paris after he'd considered it for a while. It was plain to see that Wesker knew much more about her than he'd told so far, but demanding an answer here and now wouldn't get either of them anywhere.

"Alright," Chris gave him, deciding to go on the idea that once Wesker was behind bars, he might actually divulge information, and he asked him, "but once you've weeded them out, then what? You sit happily in prison for the rest of your life? I don't get the feeling that's the case. Not to mention someone's trying to kill you, well," he amended, "_a lot_ of people want to kill you, but someone in specific. So what if they make an attempt while you're there?"

"Listen to what you just said, Chris."

"What? The part about you being locked up tighter than Hannibal Lecter, or you sitting happily in prison not being likely?"

"The part about someone trying to _kill_ me."

"What about it?"

"You've noticed that the tyrant hasn't been trying to kill me in specific, just like the crew of the jet only tried to sedate me," he pointed out. "But Ada Wong and Thomas Neddleson _did_."

Chris stared at Wesker for a moment as his point emerged, and he was right. Why would the same party be trying to do both? "Then there's two people behind this, or two groups anyway, two groups that could be fighting each other."

"Precisely, or perhaps a group that split down the middle once the outbreak occurred, it's hard to say. Still, it's likely that one group doesn't want the whistle blown on them, while the other wants to know what I know, saying they can get me to talk."

Chris let out a low groan, muttering out, "You goddamned terrorists and your stupid horseshit."

"It's remarkable how the common goal of so many can change so easily once the winds start blowing in another direction and they catch the scent of supposed _opportunity_."

"More like fucking irritating." Chris groaned, then he narrowed his brows when another possibility came to mind. "Or it could be someone in the same group working in secret trying to kill you. If they're in line with Sherry Birkin but disagree with bringing you in because they think you'd put a kink in the situation, maybe they tried to send someone in to kill you without notice. You said that Neddleson guy wasn't the type to be the brains behind an operation like this, and he was the one that spy was talking to. So maybe Sherry or someone else wants you brought in, but he disagrees. Maybe you know something about him in specific he doesn't want Sherry to know about."

"Hmm," Wesker drew out, "you paid attention. What a nice change from the man who used to fall asleep during debriefings in the S.T.A.R.S. Office."

Chris rolled his eyes at the cheap jab and muttered, "As if you cared to begin with."

"Very true," Wesker replied as if it didn't matter anymore, which it didn't. That was when the RV door opened back up and Cecilia stepped outside with a small bag in hand which she carried up to the hummer.

"When are we going to get going again?," she asked on the way.

"If we need to rest and get anything done that can't be accomplished while moving, we should do so here," Wesker told her, then looked at Chris. "Since you will be driving, I'll allow you to decide when we leave."

"How fucking generous of you," Chris replied on a snarky tone of voice and then turned to head back inside of the RV. Before he got to the door though, he looked over and asked, "Cecilia, did Regan give you the shares of ammo in that bag?"

Cecilia shook her head and said, "I forgot to ask her about it," and watched Chris nodding before he turned and went into the RV. When he had, she looked at Wesker and said, "I got what you asked for in that bag. Are you going to eat and get some rest in the hummer?"

"Yes," he replied. "Perhaps try to get this PDA to connect again in the meantime."

"I don't want to know," she started, feeling that the more she knew about Wesker, the more difficult it might be in the future to break any ties with him that formed on the road. She hadn't even asked who he was calling whenever he'd gotten the PDA to work, really trying to keep to herself out of anything concerning him no matter how trivial it was, which Wesker noticed and thought was amusing.

She began to walk away, saying, "I'm going to see if that shower in the RV works and get the ammo. Enjoy your meal."

Wesker watched her heading back to the vehicle, one of his brows lifting up over the rim of his shades as he considered everything while he turned to do what he needed to do for himself.

They didn't get moving again for about an hour. When Chris climbed into the hummer in order to drive, Wesker was settled across from him in the backseat against the door, and it was hard to tell if the man were awake or if he were just sitting very still when his shades were on his face. Chris noticed he'd changed his clothes and actually looked cleaned up, wondering briefly when he'd gotten that done, but decided he wasn't going to ask about it. Instead, he just started the car up and began to drive.

Chris had spent time his time trying to make sure the RV was still in workable condition, checking the water tanks outside and flushing them with the chemicals he still had to try to keep the thing working for as long as possible. He also checked the battery and got the feeling they might be going without power inside of the recreational vehicle before it was all over with. But they hadn't been running the television nonstop, just the lights and the refrigerator. Regan had washed their clothes once so far, so that wasn't a big deal where the power was concerned, but still, Chris got the feeling the battery might end up dying on them before they reached Dallas.

When he was done, he went back inside of the RV to pack everything up, then found out that Cecilia was opting to stay in there for the ride, though she'd been curious if Chris was really going to be alright in the hummer alone with Wesker. Chris didn't like the idea, but he also knew Wesker wasn't stupid. Killing him now would just be inconvenient, so he wasn't concerned with it, or at least, not overly so.

Wesker had kept to himself the entire time. He was fully aware of Chris whenever he climbed into the hummer in order to get started, but like Chris, he didn't say a word. It was obvious that Cecilia wanted to get some leg room in the RV, and he couldn't say he blamed her for that. But Wesker wasn't interested in spending his time there when there were other survivors that he didn't care to associate in any manner with residing in the modular living space. The hummer fit his needs fine, and he stayed there instead.

He did, in fact, fall asleep while Chris was driving, unconcerned with the possibility that he might wake up with a gun being held to his head, and though Chris knew that Wesker, in any other situation, would've reached up to the front seat and snapped the BSAA's operative's neck quicker than someone could've blinked, Wesker got the feeling that Chris wasn't too concerned for his own life just then either due to the situation. They were fairly choiceless at that point in time over killing one another.

Wesker felt that fact was a sad irony, and an almost impossible temptation to resist, but it wasn't the first time he'd put Chris's abilities to use for his own gain. Killing Chris now only lessened the chance that Wesker would ever see his goals accomplished, and that was much more important to him than a personal vendetta.

It, of course, put him in a unique situation of his own where his abilities were being used to do things he otherwise wouldn't have paid any mind to. It gave the appearance of him being some kind of savior—the night before would have turned out much differently if he hadn't been there to move the bus. But Wesker was working for himself, perhaps a bit for Chris since his skills were something Wesker found useful in this situation, and anything else was just an added bonus for the survivors with them to take advantage of.

The sun began to set and it was getting a little too dark out for Chris to continue to see without turning the headlights on. So he decided to look for a place that he could park safely because the headlights could attract unwanted attention and due to the lack of proper street lighting, he wasn't going to take a chance by driving after it had become completely dark.

Sadly, unwanted attention found him before he could do just that in specific.

Wesker felt the hummer coming to a stop and woke up without question. He was typically a light sleeper, and his body rejuvenated itself fast while he slept and had eaten something, so he felt fairly replenished and not groggy at all by the time he'd opened his eyes. He looked up into the front seat where Chris had just come to a stop and heard his name.

"Wesker, you might wanna wake up."

"I'm awake," he replied. "I'm also aware that you haven't stopped because it's getting dark outside."

Outside of the steadily halting hummer was a car parked across the road blocking their path which looked like an older model Buick of some kind with an worn red paint job. A tree stood not too far behind it, and even further beyond the tree was an old farmhouse about thirty yards away from the edge of the road. But the biggest reason had stopped was because of the two men that were standing on the other side of the car blocking the path, one of them at the hood and the other at the trunk—both holding shotguns aimed at the approaching hummer.

"Not precisely, no," Chris replied.

"Scavengers," Wesker muttered, and he reached up and tugged his shades down the bridge of his nose to see without them for a moment. He let his eyes scan the area in the late evening light, and afterward said, "Not just the typical variety either, but organized scavengers."

"What?"

"There are two men on the sides of the road using the high grass to hide in. They also have weapons but I can't tell what type from this angle."

Chris let out a low groan and mentioned, "Knowing they're armed is enough."

"That it is. They probably had a lookout in the tree and saw us coming." He slipped his shades back up the bridge of his nose and asked somewhat plainly, "Should I rush them from the sides while you distract them?"

"And get myself killed when they shoot because they saw you dart out of the car?," Chris asked as if that were an answer to the question in itself.

Wesker scoffed over the thought. Before more could be said though, one of the men outside yelled, "Get out of the car!"

With a sigh of breath, Chris asked, "Any other bright ideas that doesn't include getting me potentially shot?"

"You were driving, so pretend I'm sick or injured. I'm laying against the door after all so it will look convincing. Pass me the radio and while you're outside, I can inform those in the back of the situation."

Chris hesitated, but then the man outside yelled again. "I _said_ get out of the car, shithead!" With the command given, he aimed upwards and shot into the air. "Last warning!"

Grumbling, Chris grabbed the radio in one hand and slipped it between the gap in the front seats where he felt Wesker taking it while he went for the door handle with his other hand and turned to get out. Once the door was opened, he turned and lifted his hands up into the air so they could see that he wasn't going for the weapon strapped to his chest, and he came to stand next to the car.

"Alright, I'm out. You guys want the car, right?" He called over.

The man who'd been silent so far replied with the sarcastically spoken words, "No, we wanna get to know ya better." He then turned his head and spit on the pavement before the both of them emerged with their shotguns in hand. One of them was bigger around the middle and looked bald, though he was wearing a baseball cap that made it hard to tell. The other was skinny and had dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck, and both of them looked like they hadn't showered in weeks if their dirty clothing was any indication.

As the approached, the one with the dark hair looked when he was close enough to the hummer to see better and saw Wesker in the backseat. That was when he suddenly asked, "What's that asshole still doing in there?"

"He can't walk," Chris replied as they'd aimed at him more pointedly to get him to answer their question. "He's been injured."

The two men suddenly exchanged glances quickly, and the bigger one in the baseball cap looked back over and asked pointedly, "How?"

Apparently they were worried about infection. "Shot," Chris replied, coming up with this off of the top of his head. "In the leg, like I said, he can't walk right now."

"Someone movin' around in that RV too?," the other one asked.

Chris looked back briefly, seeing a shadow from the front windshield as if Wesker had just managed to inform the women in the vehicle that they had unwanted company and one of them might've been getting ready for a fight perhaps. After all, they knew there was a hatch on the roof and Regan had a rifle. Chris glanced ahead again when he had the thought, saying, "Yeah, there's someone back there. But she's not armed."

"She, huh?," the first man in the cap asked somewhat pointedly, and he shared a smirk with his companion. Chris couldn't help but feel an unending desire to knock the teeth out of both of their mouths when they'd exchanged the look like filthy perverts, and the same man looked over from his buddy and said, "Why don't you take that gun out nice and slow, and put it on the ground."

Chris hated this shit so much he couldn't even say, but he did like the man had asked, reaching slowly for his handgun before he tugged it out of the holster he had it in and held it out by the barrel, lowering it to the ground on the roadway. Once it was there, he stood back up, unarmed now as far as a handgun went but still had his knife on the opposing side of the harness. Still, bringing a knife to a gunfight wasn't always the best thing, and they likely weren't worried about it, believing their shotguns gave them the upper hand in the situation.

"Alright," the capped man nodded, then motioned the barrel of his shotgun at the side door. "Now get your buddy out of the car."

Why did Chris get the sudden feeling one of them was going to take the hummer while the others got in the RV for what they would probably refer to as "having a little fun"? With a sigh, he turned and went to the back door of the hummer with the men coming around to the side so they could watch incase the man Chris was about to pull out of the car had any tricks up his sleeves. Wesker saw this coming from inside and thought to himself _if only they knew_.

Before they got in range though, Chris muttered to Wesker after he'd opened the backdoor, "You heard about your leg, right?"

"The agony it's in is tremendous," Wesker replied sarcastically, then looked up through his shades when he saw the two approaching behind Chris. Sadly, Chris had to 'get him out of the car', so Wesker couldn't simply spring some kind of surprise attack on them there without the risk of being injured. He'd have to play along with this farce for just a bit longer, no matter how awkward it was.

"I don't see no bullet hole," the skinny one said as they came around and looked Wesker over. Then he asked, "You're not blind too, are you?," when he noticed the man's shades.

"My vision is a little bad, yes, and the bandage is under my pants." Wesker then paused before he asked them plainly, "Do I need to prove that to keep you from shooting?"

One of the two guys groaned as if the answer to that question was a definite 'no', and Chris rolled his eyes, putting a little effort into convincing them by grabbing Wesker's arm and tugging it over his shoulder so he could pull him out of the car as if he were injured. Wesker put on a small display as well, grunting when his leg hit the door on the way out, and Chris shook his head without bothering to hide it, an extremely annoyed expression on his face. He knew the men would just think he was irritated instead of shaking it about Wesker's little performance there, finding this whole situation grating.

Until the day he died, Chris figured this would be the most awkward moment of his life, faking the effort of helping Wesker to walk. The only consolation he could think of was that Wesker was probably just as uncomfortable in that situation as he was.

Well, the other consolation was that it _did_ give them the upper hand. Chris got the feeling that Wesker was about to dart away from him as soon as these guys had turned their backs on him now that their guard was down, and it might not be pretty when it happened.

"Alright, back away now, go on," the one wearing the cap said as if impatient for Wesker to get moving. He watched them backing up and added, "That's it, a few more feet."

Suddenly they heard one of the gunmen hiding in the tall grass just down the way yelling in pain. The sound got both of the men with them to look back, worry showing up on their faces, and when they were distracted, just like Chris had thought, Wesker moved to take advantage.

Wesker let go of him and zipped over to grab the shotgun the dark haired man had in a tight hold, keeping it in place before he lifted his "injured" leg and shoved the bottom of his boot into the back of the one wearing the baseball cap, sending him flying forward. The man's baseball cap flew off of his head, and he let a grunt as he slammed into the side of the hummer and hit his head on the hood. The impact was hard enough to knock him unconscious briefly with a trickle of blood beading down his forehead, slumping over where he lay across it.

The skinnier, dark haired man tried to react by grasping his weapon to pull it up, but he realized he couldn't break Wesker's grip on it, and had no time to consider that before a fist met his nose with a crunch of bone, breaking it. The man fell onto his back, releasing the shotgun into Wesker's hold completely, and he lay there unconscious on the road as Chris shook his fist off above him, having moved to hit him right after Wesker sent the first man flying.

There was nearly no time to think of what they needed to do next however because of the last gunman. He'd gotten up and moved around to their side of the roadway, presumably because of his other friend who was still laying in the grass on the side of the road, wailing in pain. But when he saw Chris and Wesker, he stopped and quickly aimed to fire a shot from a handgun at the two of them.

They both had to move out of the way, and did so in opposite directions. Chris ducked to the right and Wesker moved to the left swiftly, shotgun still in his hand as he went.

Chris landed against the hummer, ducking down against it. Trying to collect his thoughts, he noticed his gun was right where he could reach it only a few feet away, so he did just that. Grasping it and pulling it in, he glanced over and also noticed the bigger man's shotgun laying nearby, so he grabbed that in his left hand, and then looked back up. He was able to hear the other gunman on the opposite side of the road letting wails of pain out and figured Cecilia or Regan had snuck on top of the hummer with Regan's rifle because there hadn't been a very loud shot before the man had started yelling. There weren't any zombies in sight anyway, so that couldn't have been the problem. But Chris was currently more concerned with the gunman who'd just shot at him and Wesker than he was with any potential monsters roaming about.

That concern was short lived however when Chris heard a thud of sound and Wesker saying, "At least now your weapons will come in handy."

Chris worked his way up slowly, coming to stand by the hummer again and he carefully peered over the bigger man formerly wearing a baseball cap now laying across the hummer's hood, still unconscious. Wesker was standing on the road over the gunman that had shot at him, who's neck he'd just snapped, signaling that for now the coast was clear. So Chris stood up straight and stepped over the dark haired man who was still laying on the road unconscious to approach the scene.

When Wesker saw Chris walking over, he said, "We'll take what's left of their ammunition and move their car out of the way."

"What about the one who's been shot?"

"His friends will wake up momentarily to take care of him," Wesker replied, looking at the car parked across the street to block their path as he added the words, "Honestly, they just tried to kill us, Chris. Do you really care that much?"

Chris rolled his eyes and looked to the side, biting his tongue so they wouldn't start arguing again there. Putting his handgun back into the holster over his chest and lowering the shotgun down, he started to say, "Whatever. Let's get this—," and he stopped when he heard a bit of sound behind him and looked back along with Wesker who'd detected the sound as well.

Both of the two men who'd been decked had gotten back up while Chris and Wesker had been talking on the roadway and tried to sneak up on them, the big one moving toward Chris with a knife in hand, swiping at him, and the other put his arms around Wesker's neck to try to get him into a choke hold before he could turn around completely.

Cecilia had come out of the RV with Regan just behind her by this time because they'd noticed that Chris and Wesker had gotten the situation under control, and with the radio still in the hummer, they were uncertain whether or not any help was needed. Once they saw the sudden attacks however, they drew their handguns up and took aim by the hood of the hummer where they could duck if need be. But they both realized that they couldn't get a clear shot because the men were in such close proximity with one another, and it was only getting darker outside now, forcing them to hold any fire for the moment.

Chris backed up as fast as he could when the knife was swiped at his torso, refraining from using the shotgun he held and wasting ammo that could've been put to better use in some other situation. He narrowly avoided injury in the process as the rotund man swung his arm, then brought it back around to try to stab down into Chris. When he did, Chris dropped the shotgun completely without choice and grabbed the man's wrist quickly to block the blow, then lifted his right fist to jab into his gut once, then twice.

As this was going on, Wesker had easily stepped back when the skinny man tried to grab him and tugged his assailant over his shoulders, laying him out on the cement without a problem at all. The guy looked up from a blood covered nose and mouth due to the blow that Chris had landed on him earlier to see Wesker reaching down for him. Wesker moved too fast to give him a chance to respond as well, placing a hand beneath his chin and snapping his neck swiftly. Just as the blow was delivered, he felt someone running into his side, and he stood up in order to retaliate against the movement, balling his fist.

Chris landed his third and last blow on his opponent with his right fist slamming into the man's jaw, sending him falling to the side just as Wesker had killed his companion. The result was for the bigger man to fall into Wesker himself, and that got an immediate reaction. Still in an attack mode, Wesker stood up and turned just as Chris grabbed the guy to shove him out of the way, and because of that, he found Wesker's fist suddenly slamming into _his_ jaw instead of the other man's, hard enough to knock him over.

Their enemy went falling backwards anyway, already unconscious due to the blows Chris had landed on him. But because of Wesker, Chris also landed on his side against the road with a grunt of breath released from his lungs, tasting some blood in his mouth. Wesker stood up straight between the three men now sprawled out on the road around him, and looked them all over while quirking a brow, his focus then settling on Chris.

He stepped over to the BSAA operative as Chris shook his head off and tried to clear his vision. "_Sorry_, Chris," Wesker started, his tone anything but apologetic when he stopped to stand somewhat close to where Chris now laid. "Force of habit I suppose."

Chris cleared his throat, then turned his head and spit out some blood onto the roadway. Flexing his jaw, he turned on his side a bit to look up at Wesker and nodded his head, saying, "It's okay." His own tone was anything but understanding, and in response, he saw a slightly amused looked on the blonde's face above him.

Without warning, Chris swept his leg to the side, catching Wesker off guard for once in order to trip and knock him over. Chris knew that it wasn't easy to do such a thing to the tyrant, but it _did_ happen, and it worked this time around. Once Wesker lost his balance and was downed, Chris pushed himself forward without wasting any time and landed a quick fist to the temple before the man could recover, sending his shades flying off of his face and across the cement in the process.

After it was done, Chris fell back and added, "It happens," on a sarcastic note before he pushed himself over and onto his knees, then stood up.

Cecilia and Regan had watched this entire thing, and Cecilia shook her head with a sigh. "Alright, _men_, try not to get—," and she stopped when Wesker suddenly moved over and grabbed Chris by the throat in a hold that was tight enough to cut off his air supply, his eyes glowing at the man menacingly.

"Shit," Regan cussed out, and both women moved over to try to see if they could stop this at all, though neither of them felt they could if they'd wanted to. But they couldn't just let the two of them kill each other.

Chris grasped at Wesker's wrist, scowling and grimacing as he felt his air supply cut off, going down to a knee slowly. As Cecilia and Regan came toward them, Cecilia said his name again. "Wesker! Don't!"

Both of them came to a stop about five feet away, and Chris wanted to tell them both to get back in the fucking RV because this was personal. He'd grasped Wesker's wrist in his hands, and like always, found the grip to be unbreakable while he fought to breath. Just when he was about to try a different method of breaking the tyrant's hold, he felt Wesker's hold on his throat loosening of his own accord, and suddenly letting him go with a shove that made Chris fall back and rasp in his breath.

Wesker took a few steps back from Chris as he coughed and tried to regain a little air in his lungs, finally speaking on the way, "You're right, Chris, it _does_ happen."

Chris let another cough and then took a much more normal breath as he stood back up, glaring at Wesker the whole way like he could've just continued to do this kind of thing all night long. They both held their murderous gazes for a moment, but then the high beams of the hummer came on and briefly blinded their vision because they were getting used to the nighttime settling in over them.

Regan was the one who'd turned the headlights on, and she looked over to seem them both squinting in the light, saying, "If you two are done now, then let's get the damned ammo these guys were carrying and move their car so we can get back on the road."

Regan turned and walked away from the hummer just as Cecilia headed toward the Buick, and Wesker and Chris only glared at each other for another moment before they both went in separate directions. Not long later, they had what they could find of the men's ammo, and the Buick was moved from their path along with the bodies and the unconscious man who was laid beside his injured companion.

Giving Wesker the reigns to drive again, Chris headed to the RV, completely uninterested in being in the same vehicle as the tyrant for now. Wesker didn't say a word about it and didn't spare a second glance either. He simply followed suit, climbed into the hummer, and started her up. Regan asked Cecilia if she'd rather ride in the RV as well, but Cecilia shook her head. Curiously, Regan watched the woman walking toward the hummer to climb inside of it, and then shrugged, heading back to the RV herself.

She was uncertain about everything, but just hoped Chris was okay, but somehow got the feeling that even if he was in a physical sense, he was probably going to be pretty unhappy about the whole affair in general—not that she could blame him for that. The thing that scared her though was that she had no idea how to handle such a situation, and how the hell could Chris fight against a man who was capable of what Wesker was? It boggled the mind.

For the time being, she decided that asking about it wasn't going to lead anywhere pleasant. She just hoped they could make it to Dallas before something similar to it happened again, and these two really did murder one another.


	29. Contact

_Chapter 28 - Contact_

_ December 3__rd__, 2007_

_ U.S. 60, Texas_

_ 7:26 PM_

"So what was that back there? I thought his skills were useful to you."

"They are."

The response was a plain and simple one, the comments coming up after driving down the road for a while, away from the scene that had taken place with the scavengers earlier. Cecilia had decided to simply not mention it at first, considering that Wesker and Chris's hatred for each other was none of her business. But the more she thought about it, the more curious she got about various matters until she couldn't help but ask Wesker about what happened when he'd tried to strangle Chris in retaliation for hitting him.

The response he'd given was simple, telling Cecilia Wesker might've just lost control for a moment, so she asked him that very question.

"Then you just got too angry to control yourself?"

"Yes. My hatred for Chris Redfield cannot be summed up with words. Whether he believes it or not, he is fortunate I have so much control, otherwise he _would_ be dead now."

Cecilia looked ahead again, the expression she had on her face a considerate one. "Do you often feel on edge?"

"No. Only in the presence of a few, or if my temper has been riled in a particular manner."

He didn't seem to mind the questions, and she took his response in, looking down toward the dashboard in thought about it. "That has to do with your...virus?"

"Perhaps it does," Wesker conceded on a thoughtful tone of voice that suggested he might've considered the possibility several times himself, still driving and turning the wheel with a slight curve in the road they were traveling down. Once he did, he asked her a question in turn. "But what about you? Earlier, you didn't even want to know who I was calling on Ada's PDA, and now you are asking me about the very thing that makes me what I am."

Cecilia groaned softly, realizing he was right. She'd been trying to stay out of his affairs as much as possible, and these kinds of questions went completely against that rule for more or less. Still, she felt she had a damned good reason for it, and she shrugged before she told him with a soft sigh of breath, "I guess I'm trying to figure out if that could've been me back there you were about to choke, and wondering what the best way to protect myself from it could be."

Wesker let a short, quick breath through his nose that was barely audible as if he might've been slightly amused, glancing at her briefly before he made a retort. "If that was what you needed to know, you only needed to ask. While I don't think you will end up in a position like that as you honestly aren't a threat, it all depends on your own actions, whether or not you step on my toes in the future so to speak."

Like she'd surmised about him so far, his rule was basically to just not get in his way and she'd be fine. If anything at all, he seemed almost _too_ practical. But at the same time, it the tension between himself and Chris was complicating matters badly, and Cecilia didn't feel hesitant about pointing it out.

"All of that anger between you and Chris is really going to make this trip harder on everyone," she pointed out to him in a serious manner, looking over at him with an even expression on her face. "It doesn't seem worth it to be honest."

Wesker didn't look at her as he replied, "It has been difficult for Chris and myself from the start. I didn't ask to tag along with him simply because I was interested, and he did not simply let me for the same reason."

"That much is obvious."

Wesker remained silent after those words. Cecilia watched him, wondering if he were thinking about something to say in specific, or if he'd said all he was going to. Sometimes it wasn't easy to tell with him—she wondered if he'd ever played poker before because if he had, he'd probably won every game with as flat as he could keep his expression most times. But she looked ahead again without comment and decided to just wait quietly in order to see if he'd say anything else, and finally he did just that.

"Chris has a temper of his own, Miss Chase, one that I can admit is volatile in its own right. When I hit him instead of the scavenger, well, you saw for yourself how he reacted. If you are interested in keeping things like that from occurring again, then it may be the most effective idea to watch _him_ instead of me."

That made Cecilia quirk a brow in some slight confusion. "Why do you say that?"

"Because if _my_ temper is riled, it would be next to impossible for you to stop me. If _his_ flares up, you would have a much better chance."

Seeing what he was getting at now, that it would be easier to prevent him from causing any problems by trying to keep his own temper in check, Cecilia thought over the possibilities, then mentioned, "That's not saying much considering he's about five times my size and could probably throw me like a game ball."

"But he can't dodge bullets," Wesker pointed out. "On the other hand, _I can_."

Cecilia let out a low sigh, but Wesker's suggestion was making more and more sense to her, she had to admit as much. "So basically, you're saying in order to keep him from riling you like he did earlier, stop him from exploding even if it means pulling a gun on him?"

"Precisely."

"If it works, _I guess_," Cecilia spoke hesitantly. "Still, somehow I get the feeling that coming between the two of you would be like trying to stop an eighteen wheeler from running in front of a freight train."

Suddenly, Wesker smirked and mused aloud, "What an accurate description."

"I'm also not too certain how keen I am on the idea of holding him at gunpoint for your sake."

Those words made Wesker scoff softly. "This would not be for _my_ sake, though it amuses me to know you think this about asking for help with a little protection." After he gave the contrary remark, Wesker then explained, "No, this would be for _his_, and everyone else who is involved, including yourself. I'm not insinuating that I'll be provoked to some point that I may react without thinking, but it would be better not to risk it, don't you agree?"

"I think Chris will start to believe you and I are more friendly than we are if I did something like that as well," Cecilia returned, ignoring his insinuations as she glanced over at him with a fairly expressionless face of her own. "I don't want that because it seems as if, when we get to Dallas, there's going to be a shitload of questions. The less there is to imply a friendship here, the better off I'll be."

"You make a good point," Wesker told her, and he sounded sincere in those words. Then he added, "Even still, you can always explain it to him if that is what you are most concerned with."

"I'm sure that would go over _real_ well with Chris," Cecilia replied on a sarcastic tone of voice, looking out of the front window and down the dark, backwoods highway where the plains stretched left and right, giving away nothing when it came to scenery. With a soft sigh of breath, one too quiet to be heard even by her ears, she let her head lower, trying to figure out if what he'd suggested was really the best idea to keep future outbursts from compromising them all. As she was trying to figure it out, her considerations were distracted when Wesker began to make a comment.

"The way Chris would feel over such a tactic makes no difference," he pointed out as if he could care less how Chris felt about next to anything at all, then added more to the point, "but I take it you haven't specifically bonded with him, or the ones in his care currently, if the way he may look at you is the sole problem you're having with handling such a simple measure."

Cecilia looked back at Wesker quickly and furrowed her brows in slight curiosity. "Just because _you_ hate him doesn't mean _I'd_ be so quick to tug out a weapon and aim it at him, and no, I'm not their best friend if that's what you mean."

"What I mean in specific is that making such a move as pulling a gun on Chris in order to keep his anger in check would be construed as you protecting me rather than trying to keep order."

With a sigh of breath, Cecilia stared at him for a moment before she replied, "No, I don't think they trust me _that_ much yet. I've known them for all of two days now, so why would they?"

"You've saved their lives, helped to watch their backs when you didn't have to, and risked your own for their sake. I find the idea somewhat curious. Is it they who put so little faith in you, or you who has a lack of belief in your own abilities."

"This has nothing to do with how much stock I put in myself, Wesker," Cecilia countered.

Wesker lifted a brow and glanced to the side at her briefly before he replied, "If it didn't, you would agree that pulling a weapon on Chris in order to stop any confrontations if you had to would be for the greater good of everyone involved. Like you said, you've only known them for two days, so what does it matter what they think in specific of you?"

Cecilia was starting to get angry now. She turned a little more in her seat to face him, brows furrowed over green eyes, and she asked, "What about _you_? Wouldn't my pulling a gun on Chris just leave him wide open for you to attack him?"

"Hmm, it seems you have missed the point of this entirely. Too bad," Wesker shot back blandly. "I was starting to think you had better perception than that."

There was that condescending tone Cecilia was starting to get so used to hearing, but she didn't say anything in response as he continued to speak. "This isn't about giving me an advantage, Cecilia, and I wouldn't _need_ such an advantage to begin with."

"Then what _is_ it about?" She couldn't help but ask the question as if she wasn't going to believe anything he told her.

"It's about you and what you are."

"Okay, since you know so much, what am I in specific?"

"That answer depends on whose perceptions you are questioning. According to you, you're thought of as a wild card. You believe they are still uncertain what to make of you in relation to me despite the fact that you have shown them you are trustworthy. But to me, you are currently an asset who is too stubborn to let herself do what needs to be done because she likes to dwell on past mistakes rather than learning from them and moving on."

Those words weren't what she'd expected, and they confused Cecilia. Anger still in her voice, she asked him, "What that hell are you talking about?"

Wesker didn't seem to be hesitant to give her an explanation at all. "You told me about a bank robbery you managed to stop because you went in solo despite your orders, and you did so to save your sister. You did what you deemed was necessary to keep her safe, but I'm not completely convinced you don't feel regret for the decision you made."

"Defying my superior to make sure my sister was safe _isn't_ something I regret, Wesker," Cecilia told him pointedly.

"Don't misunderstand me, this has nothing to do with the value of your sister's life or the decision to save her," Wesker pointed out, and his voice was logical and even sincere to a degree. "I have no doubts in my mind that saving her life is something you view as the right choice. However, I've noticed since we have been in each others company that you are a perfectionist, well disciplined and stubbornly willing to do precisely what you need to do in order to accomplish your goals. But you don't always consider that a redeeming quality, and you second guess yourself because of it. I'm also willing to wager that the suspension you were on when the outbreaks began was probably the first and only reprimand you had ever received due to your perfectionist nature."

Cecilia looked away from him, and Wesker noticed the movement, though he didn't make any outwards reactions to it whatsoever. Instead, he only asked, "How did your sister view the repercussions of her rescue to your career?"

Cecilia let a sigh of breath, shaking her head as she told Wesker, "She wasn't ungrateful, but she hated that I stuck my neck out for her, and told me I worried about her too much. She said that she felt badly that I could've potentially lost my job because of her. She even got angry with me and told me that I always did that even though she was older than me and didn't think it was fair that I choose to be in all of the trouble and never thought about myself like she wanted me to."

"_That_ is what you regret," Wesker informed her as if he simply knew it without needing to be told anything at all. "Not what you _had_ to do, but what it did to those around you."

Cecilia grumbled, muttering out the words, "Yeah, well, what would you know about having a sister you'd take a bullet to keep safe? It's not always simple."

"No, it's actually very simple, Cecilia," he replied, looking over at her for just a moment with certainty on his face before he glanced back out at the road and elaborated his point on a serious tone of voice. "You protect what is important no matter what it takes, and you do not question what you had to do further once it is done. Better your sister was alive to actually feel any guilt than dead because of some pointless bank robbery. Which do you think you would have regretted _more_?"

"Her death, of course," Cecilia replied sharply, then looked over at him and added, "but she was my sister, and she was right. I was so ready to throw myself into the line of fire to save her that I didn't stop to consider how she might've felt if I were hurt in the process."

"And instead you gave _her_ another chance to get into her own trouble later. Why regret a little guilt and anger when that would fade over time?"

Cecilia stared at him, thinking about it for a moment, then let out her breath on a low groan. She briefly wondered if he was right. Her sister, Miranda, had been upset mostly because, when Cecilia had gotten suspended, she'd been the first of three generations of Chases serving at the police station to get such a reprimand. Miranda had felt as if it was all her fault. Cecilia never regretted getting Miranda out of that mess, but she did regret the way she'd made Miranda feel, and wondered sometimes if she could have done it any differently, if her approach had really been the best way to handle the situation.

The reply she gave to Wesker however was an easy one. "Because it won't fade. Miranda's dead now because of the outbreaks, and the last we spoke was the argument we had. No, it wasn't a bad argument, but I would rather have had a different chat than that before she was killed."

"That is irrelevant," Wesker started, his tone sounding as if he were completely convinced of the matter. "The situation was out of your control, and grief has colored your perceptions to make you feel as if you made a mistake when you did not."

Cecilia was ready to stop talking about this now, so she snapped out the words, "Just why the hell are you pushing this so much? Is there something you want out of me or are you just generally trying to push my buttons?"

"Neither. I had simply hoped to make you realize you are letting yourself needlessly fall prey to sentimentality, and it may end up putting you in jeopardy, as well as others before this trip concludes unless you try to change it. Had the incident with your sister never occurred, do you really think you would question now whether or not pointing a gun at Chris would be the best course of action if it meant keeping him from causing some kind of a problem?"

He didn't get an immediate response from her. She appeared to be considering it, and she had a fairly unreadable expression over her thoughts. Wesker just waited to see what she might say, wondering if he'd managed to hit any of her buttons at all in order to make her see more clearly or not, and finally, he got an answer from her.

"No, I wouldn't. Not if it meant my ass and everyone else's."

"Good. Then I can rest easier knowing that you will do what it takes to ensure our survival," Wesker replied, though it was hard to tell whether or not he was being sarcastic.

Cecilia started shaking her head. This wasn't the kind of road trip she thought she'd signed on for, but then again, she supposed it could've been much worse somehow. Still, she felt the need to remind him of something, and pointed it out by saying, "I hope this isn't your way of trying to keep me on your side though, because like you said, I wouldn't be doing it for _you_."

Wesker's response was full of nothing but dry humor, "No, I have no delusions you would do anything for _me_ in specific." On a more serious tone, he added the words, "Though I will admit that keeping you as a neutral party _is_ in my favor."

Cecilia narrowed a single brow, looking to the side in curious thought before she asked him, "How is that?"

Wesker let out a sigh of breath, and Cecilia couldn't tell if it was because he was irritated with all of the chatter, or because of what he was about to say. He even grew quiet for a moment, which made her think it might've been because he didn't want to talk anymore, and she looked over at him to see his face, but it was unreadable as it tended to be a good bit of the time.

But when she did look, he said, "You don't have to be told what I am, or who I am. In fact, the truth of what and who I am doesn't matter. What matters is the way that you, Chris, and the other two with him look at me. I'm the villain, Cecilia," he reminded her, glancing over at her through the same eyes that told anyone he wasn't quite what he appeared to be. "Even if I make a suggestion that holds significant merit, it wouldn't be taken under consideration without extreme scrutiny."

Looking back out at the road after he said those words while Cecilia continued to watch him driving the hummer, he finally finished by explaining, "Having someone around who is neutral is beneficial to me because, in the very least, you may help argue a point and make it more substantial to those who would brush it off so easily."

Not a few moments after that comment, Wesker heard a snort of amusement coming out of his current traveling companion. He lifted a single brow over it and stated, "I'm glad you find it so amusing."

"It's not what you said," Cecilia replied, a smirk on her face. "It's what it implied." Looking back over at him, she told him on a somewhat dramatic tone of voice, "Apparently, for now, I'm all you've got."

The little joke settled between them for a moment, and a slow, small smirk creased Wesker's lips as he watched the road ahead of them. Cecilia couldn't help herself, grinning over the thought when she heard him asking, "Shouldn't that be a frightening prospect to you?"

"I think it should probably scare _you_ more than me. I mean, you're the big, bad," she trailed before waving a hand as if searching for the right word, finishing the line with, "whatever you are. I'm just a typical human being."

Wesker scoffed. "I see your point. But perhaps I'm not as unfortunate as you make it seem. At least you're a _capable_ human being, saying you don't allow emotion to color your perceptions."

"Lucky you I guess," Cecilia retorted in a not-so-serious fashion, and she shook her head over the words while still smirking ever so slightly. Wesker's lifeline in this group? Cecilia knew she wasn't quite that, but the notion was a little humorous to her anyway. If it _was_ the case that she was his only means of getting through this, he would definitely be screwed for more than one reason.

Then again, Cecilia didn't feel so badly about being a neutral party. She didn't want to deal with Chris or, like she'd said to Wesker before, stand between an eighteen wheeler and a freight train, but she honestly wasn't partial to Wesker _or_ Chris. It was true, she'd rather not appear to have any ties to Wesker at all, but hell, who was truly good or bad in the game of 'survival of the fittest'? Because that's exactly what they were playing now. Though that could change whenever they reached Dallas, out there in the world where they were, the only real rule was to kill or be eaten. Any holy crusades of "I am better than thou art" could wait until later.

Not that Cecilia put any blame on Chris's shoulders for what had happened in the world, but his organization was supposed to _stop_ outbreaks like this from occurring. Yet it had anyway, and she'd lost everything, so someone hadn't done what they were supposed to. Something like that wasn't easy to ignore, and Cecilia had no idea if she'd ever see any kind of retribution for it. Maybe she'd be able to get some, a chance to take some vengeance out for the loss of her sister and everyone else she knew and cared about, but she would just have to wait and see.

Somewhere deep down, Cecilia sincerely hoped she did.

Meanwhile, in the RV, Chris was quietly thinking. He'd been staring off into space for a while now, holding a cold clothe against his jaw and so deep in thought that he wasn't even seeing the inside of the RV at that moment. The events of earlier had gotten him to thinking about some things fairly carefully, and for the time being, he wasn't in the greatest of moods.

Shannon was on the sectional across from him, and she was intently staring at him, waiting for him to move. Regan eventually walked in to see the situation, coming slowly to a stop as she headed through the kitchen. She never got close enough to break Chris's concentration, though she noticed the look on his face was fairly grim. She then peered at Shannon who was settled near him on the sectional, just watching like she might've been waiting for a sign to pop up on his face that would answer all of life's questions or something along the same lines. It was a strange sight indeed.

"Did I miss something?," Regan asked after a moment with a perplexed expression on her own face. "Is this some kind of odd staring game?"

Chris blinked and snapped out of it when he heard her voice and looked at Regan, then over at Shannon, noticing the little girl was giving him a peculiar look. When he moved, she sighed as if disappointed.

"Aw, mama," she grumbled, then cleared her throat. "You made him move."

"I'm...sorry," Regan replied hesitantly, uncertain what it was that she was apologizing for. "Was that against the rules or something?"

"No, I just wanted to see how long he'd go without blinking. He was doing really well."

Chris groaned and rubbed his eyes when he heard those words, realizing he'd apparently zoned out completely. "Sorry Shannon, I was just daydreaming."

"You must've gone to a part of left field that's not even mapped yet," Shannon pointed out, pursing her lips at him. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," he replied with a half smile on his face because of her comment, "just figuring this whole trip out, that's all." It wasn't a complete lie after all.

"Well, I gotta use the bathroom anyway, so it's a good thing you woke up cause I wanted to wait to see how long it would take you to realize you were being stared at," she snickered out and then stood up from her seat, covering her mouth with a brief cough as she headed toward the back.

Regan watched her daughter as she went somewhat curiously. "Make sure you wash your hands and your face," she directed on a more motherly tone of voice. "That's not the first time you've coughed this evening."

"I keep getting a tickle," Shannon replied to try to excuse it, even clearing her throat again after she'd spoken before she asked curiously, "but why do I have to wash my _face_ for?"

Regan decided not to correct her grammar as it wasn't a big deal just then, informing her, "Just incase. If you've caught something, we don't have any medicine you know, so washing up is a good idea."

"Oh," Shannon drew out. Then she nodded her head before adding, "Okay," and moved toward the back of the RV.

Regan watched her going, shaking her head when the door shut with the thought that she hoped Shannon was right about it just being a tickle in her throat, and nothing that might've been setting in and make her sick later. With a sigh of breath over the thought, she looked back at the man seated on the sectional and pushed the idea from her head, remembering the way he'd looked before she'd broken his concentration, and also about what she'd seen on the road earlier between him and Wesker. Regan felt hesitant about asking him anything over it, but she also felt obligated to in a way as well if only to make sure he was alright, so she went ahead and got it out of the way.

"You sure the trip is all you were thinking about, Chris? You looked pretty grim."

Chris took a breath and looked down, nodding his head. "Yeah, that's all."

Like she thought he would, he seemed pretty angry and evasive over the topic, and Regan didn't have to wander far to figure out why. He also didn't seem like he was in a mood where he wanted to _talk_ about it either, at least, not just then, so she decided not to say anymore. But as soon as she'd made the decision, he continued on the same subject.

"What the hell was that anyway?," he suddenly asked her, pulling the cool clothe from his jaw before he looked up at her. "You and Cecilia coming outside like that I mean."

Regan quirked a brow over at him, his tone not the most pleasant of sounds just then. In an attempt to explain, she said, "After Cecilia snuck back inside from the roof, we saw you both standing on the roadway and figured you might be able to use a hand, so we went outside to do that. But when we got out there, you were both being jumped by those assholes, and then you and Wesker were at each other's throats all of a sudden."

Chris looked as if he didn't like it, tossing the clothe onto the table top he sat near. Regan let a little groan out and asked, "You're not pissed that we went out there, are you?"

He stayed silent. Regan waited for him to say something, and then pursed her lips when he never did. So she shrugged her shoulders, deciding as she turned around to grab some cans of soup from the cabinet for dinner to let it go by saying, "Alright, we don't have to discuss it."

"Wesker could've killed you both easily, _that's_ what I'm pissed about," Chris explained despite her words.

He heard Regan letting out a little sigh of breath, watching her twisting the handle of a can opener on the soup she'd pulled out. Once she'd finished, she looked over her shoulder at him and replied, "It's not like either of us were expecting you two to suddenly start trading haymakers, Chris. Seems to me like he could stop the car at any time and come to kill all of us if he wanted to, so what's the difference?"

Chris rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. He was annoyed and frustrated, and when he got that way, he tended to get snappy with people no matter what was being said, and he wasn't sure even now whether or not he was angry at her for running outside as if she and Cecilia could've done anything about Wesker at all, or if it was just Wesker in general who's face he wanted to beat in.

Maybe a subject change was worth it. He had something he wanted to ask her anyway, and he went ahead and brought it up. "Shannon hasn't said anything has she?"

"About what?," Regan asked while pouring the soup into a pot, realizing he was changing the subject finally, and she wasn't sure what the reason for that was in specific, but she wasn't going to stop him either.

"About Dutch," he explained. "You know, what happened in Santa Rosa."

"No, not much except to say that if he'd turned into something like those horses in Colorado did, we would've been in big trouble, so it was good he didn't and that we're alright."

Chris let a sigh of breath, glad to hear that Shannon hadn't been too upset about him having to shoot the dog, or at least, hadn't been so broken up that she'd withdrawn like grief made some people do, and decided even that topic was annoying to him just then. Shaking his head, he stood up and walked over to the fridge to get some of the iced tea that Cecilia had grabbed for them before because he doubted talking about _anything_ in that moment was going to make him feel much better about the situation.

Regan continued to stir the soup for a moment while the stove heated up, and she looked over to see Chris popping open a jug of the watermelon flavored variety. He looked like he might've been uncertain, and then took a sip of it to try it out. After a moment, he shrugged and poured a little more into his cup, then put the jug back up before he got a better swallow.

Rather than comment on what he thought about the flavor after he'd set his cup back down, he told Regan, "Come to think of it, I've never had to put an animal down like that before. I wish he could've made it to Dallas with us though. He was a damned good guard dog."

"Yeah, his training and nose was nice," Regan said with a half smile. Chris looked over at her, and she lifted a shoulder at him in a shrug when he did. "Shit happens I guess, and as callous as it sounds, it's better a dog than a human being."

"Agreed," Chris replied without pause, and then suddenly he narrowed his brows and stood back from the counter quickly, exclaiming, "Shit!"

"What!," Regan asked, jumping a bit because he'd said it so fast she almost expected to look over and see a zombie attacking him. But instead, Chris was digging in his pant's pocket, and he fished out his cellphone before he answered her.

"The damned thing's vibrating." Chris couldn't keep the urgency out of his voice as he flipped the phone open while Shannon walked back around the corner behind him and gave her mother a curious look. Regan shrugged at her in return and then looked back at Chris, curious to see who might've been calling him.

The screen on the phone said incomplete data, but Chris pressed the talk button anyway and lifted it to his ear quickly before he asked, "Hello?"

Static. He moved around the RV, trying to clear the signal, asking again, "Hello? Is anyone there that can hear me?"

Still nothing. Chris let out a sigh of breath. "I don't know if anyone's there but," then he stopped when the line went dead. "Shit," he cussed, looking back down at the phone in his hand to try to see if he couldn't get it to reconnect.

Shannon watched this, then walked over to the sectional and asked, "Who was that?"

"No idea, but it actually rang." Chris looked over at Regan after he answered Shannon and added, "We're getting closer to Dallas. This could be a good sign."

"Seems so," Regan agreed.

Before anymore could be said, Chris suddenly felt the phone vibrating in his hand again, and he looked back at it quickly. Regan and Shannon watched his expression change from curiosity to one of shock before he pressed the talk button quickly and put the phone back to his ear, asking, "Claire! Is that you?"

The voice on the other end was hard to hear, but Chris could make out the words through the static. "_Chris! Yes, it's me! Can you hear me?_"

"Holy shit, yeah I can hear you, Claire! Are you in Dallas?"

"_Yes, we're in Dallas—th George and Tracy. Where are y—_," the line started going into static.

"Claire? You're phasing out. I'm in Texas now, we're heading in from New Mexico."

"_Got that—Leon's here and—looking for—Dallas is st—arantined—keep tal—_," the line was getting worse.

"I can barely hear you now, Claire," Chris tried again. "We're on route 60 heading down the highway in a hummer with an RV hitched to it. Can you hear me?"

The line stayed in static and Chris moved to another part of the RV while trying to hear everything he could as Regan and Shannon watched, curious about what was being said on the other end.

"Claire? Claire? Shit...," he looked at his phone for a second and then put it back to his ear. "I don't know if you can still hear me, but I'm getting nothing but static from you. I still don't know what's happened here, but I have information about the outbreaks. We're heading into Dallas with five people total, but we could use a pick up ASAP."

More static came in, but suddenly Claire's voice rang in as clear as a bell, though her words started mid sentence so it didn't completely make sense to Chris at first. "_...him Leon, but he keeps going out with these damned signals being so messed up!_"

"I can hear you now."

"_Chris? Am I coming through? You sound a lot clearer._"

"Yeah, seems like for now the signal's good."

"_Okay then I'll say this fast before it goes bad again_," Claire started, rushing through her words just incase they were cut off, rather than telling him what she _wanted_ to say about hearing from him after so much time and uncertainty. "Y_ou said you're coming in from west Texas with five people. Head to east Dallas and the Forth Worth area, do __**not**__ go the south way. North isn't as bad, but east is your best shot._"

"East, got it."

"_Good. Also, whatever you do, avoid—_," and suddenly static encompassed the line completely before she came back with the words, "_all costs. It's a hellhole there. We'll be se—search and resc—nd you in the—_," and Chris could only assume she was saying they'd send someone out to search for them in the meantime.

"Got it, but you're skipping out again."

"_Shit—there he—skipping out aga—_," apparently they were both having trouble.

Chris let a soft sigh of breath before saying, "Claire, if you can hear me, I _have_ to warn you, Albert Wesker is with us. Repeating that, Albert Wesker is here with us. This is high priority, Claire. Tell George or whoever's in charge there to get some men geared up if they're coming out to look. It's a long story, but don't worry, I'm fine. Just make sure to tell him that."

He sighed out a breath when the static continued with little blips of sound coming from his sister that he couldn't make out, except the words, "_...good to hear—gain. Be safe out the—big bro—et you_," and then she went out again.

"You too, sis, it's good to know you're safe," Chris tried to tell her in response, wondering just how much of it she'd heard. He then tried to say more, but the line went dead completely.

"Damn it!," he cussed, pulling the phone back and went to redial the number, but there wasn't a signal at all now. "Come on you damned worthless...work!"

He turned again and held the phone up a bit, and when no signal came in, he let out a sigh. Finally he shut the phone, deciding he'd have to give it a few minutes before he could see if a call back was an option.

"Chris? That was your sister? Is she in Dallas?"

"That's what she said, Squirt," Chris told Shannon in response, looking over at her and then Regan by the stove who was trying to keep an eye on the food between paying attention to the situation at hand. "She said Dallas is still safe, that east is our best bet, and do not go the south way. She also said something about search and rescue being sent out from what it sounded like, but there was a lot of static. Still, I think they'll be looking for us now. Also, my aunt and uncle are there, and so is Leon."

Though Regan was smiling over the news, she asked Chris, "Leon? The same guy that helped her before right?"

"Yeah, that's the one. He probably got her to Dallas in the first place."

Chris then looked back at his phone with the words 'no signal' still plastered across the screen, but even without a signal, he couldn't help but smile. His sister was still alive, and so were the two people who'd raised him from the age of seven onward after his parent's deaths. He still had his family, and even in the very least, a friend left.

Chris couldn't help himself as he set the phone on the counter quietly and leaned against it. They were alive, and the confirmation completely reversed his earlier bad mood. He took in a breath, trying to let the thought process. _They're alive and Dallas is still safe_. Even in this shitty world, they'd managed to make it there.

Regan chuckled when he hit the side of his fist into the counter as if overwhelmed by a sense of relief before he moved away from it. She reached up, grabbing some bowls from the cabinets while Shannon watched from where she sat. As Regan tugged the bowls down, thinking his reaction was completely warranted after so much time and doubt, she said, "I bet you feel like a million bucks right now."

Chris rubbed his hand over his eyes, saying, "Better than that, I just..." He trailed on a sigh of breath, and considered that he just didn't care about anything in those few, blissful moments. Signal on his phone or not, his family was safe, and there was a chance the entire world might not fall apart completely, no matter what the odds stacked against it were.

He'd been operating under the notion for the past few weeks that everything he'd ever done had been for absolutely shit, that the world was ending completely. Now he'd gotten a sign that said he might've been wrong, one that told him that, just maybe, what he and those he knew worked for had put enough of a dent in things to keep the world going through such a terrible outbreak, that people who'd lost their lives in the fight hadn't done so for nothing.

_ That_ was what he cared about, and when he'd been so angry and felt so hopeless for so long now, it was an overwhelming sensation to realize that there was still a chance, that there was _something_ out there. He looked over at Regan when he had the thought, and without warning, he stepped over and grabbed her chin, planting a sudden kiss on her cheek in a show of relief and all the things he just couldn't get out in that moment, letting go immediately with grin before taking his phone from the counter and heading over to the sectional with it.

Regan made a funny look when he did that, and was shaking her head in amusement as she watched him sitting at the sectional, thinking about making some witty retort when she saw Shannon's face given in response to the display. The look her child was giving Chris made her laugh.

"I think you scared her, Chris."

Chris suddenly looked over at Shannon to see that she was staring at him with raised brows as if she didn't know what to think, but she looked amused as well. He just grinned at her and said, "Sorry, spur of the moment."

"I'm just glad it wasn't _me_ standing there," Shannon replied with a snicker of breath.

Chris couldn't help but smile at her, though he was feeling extremely weightless in that moment, and he drew his arms up and laid his forehead down on the table against them with a low groan of sound.

When he did, Shannon narrowed her brows at him and tilted her head, asking, "Are you okay?"

He took in a breath deeply, then let it out somewhat loudly as he lifted his head and looked at the little girl across from him considerately. Finally, he nodded and told her, "Yeah, I just feel like I've lost a ton of weight all of a sudden."

"I bet," Regan spoke from where she stood at the counter, spooning the soup she'd fixed into some bowls with a ladle. "It's always good to know someone you love is okay, especially after worrying about them for so long. One less thing to eat at you."

"Damn right," he groaned out as if she'd spoken nothing but the gospel truth, sitting back completely before he finally remembered his language when he saw Shannon. "Sorry Shannon."

"It's alright, I've heard worse," she nodded with a snicker before she started coughing again, which was pretty sudden and harder than before, covering her mouth with her hands.

Chris narrowed his brows when she did so, noticing Regan looking over at her as well, and he then asked, "You okay?"

Shannon nodded her head, trying to recover. Once she finally did, she told him, "Yeah, I just keep getting that tickle in my throat. Mama, is that why you're making soup?"

"Actually, yeah," she replied. "But I think I owe Chris a sandwich after what he just found out about."

Chris smirked over the insinuation. "Soup's fine. I'm not sure how hungry I am anyway."

That was when Shannon suddenly turned her head and started coughing into her hands again before she sat back and took in a deep breath. "Whoa, that got me dizzy. I think I need to wash my hands again."

"Yeah, do that," Regan told her with a concerned expression on her face. "When you're done, I want you to try to eat as much of this soup as you can, alright? Cecilia managed to get some orange juice too, so I'm giving you a glass of it. I know you don't like OJ much, but it'll help."

Nodding, Shannon hopped up and went to run to the sink in the kitchen. As she did this, Regan set the bowls down at the table by the sectional and set out a pack of crackers which were already crumbled on the inside. She also grabbed some napkins and set them down on Shannon's side of the table and said, "Use these to cough into. It'll keep you from needing to wash your hands quite as often."

Regan sat down on Chris's side so she wouldn't block Shannon's path when the girl came back over, and he slipped to the side to make some room. Once seated, she opened the crackers and dumped a few on top of her soup, then offered the bag to Chris. That was when they both heard Shannon singing "Happy Birthday" at the kitchen sink. Slowly, they looked over at the kid quietly.

She didn't sing it once, in fact, she sang it twice.

When Shannon finished, she dried her hands on another napkin, threw it away, and then headed back to the table, stopping suddenly when she saw the look that Chris and Regan were giving her.

"What!"

"Why were you singing?," Regan asked curiously, amused despite the look she had given her daughter.

"Oh! You don't remember?," Shannon started, walking back over to the sectional and climbed into it while Regan shook her head in the negative that she didn't remember anything in specific. Once Shannon was settled down, she took the crackers from Chris and thanked him for them, then explained, "It was on a sign posted in the back bathroom at The Nightlife."

"The Nightlife?," Chris asked.

Regan snorted, her memory jogged now as she glanced at Chris briefly to explain, "Yeah, Linda's nightclub. I know where this is going now."

Shannon began to nod her head while mixing her crackers into her soup. "It said for workers to wash their hands for as long as it took to sing happy birthday twice. I figured it would really kill the germs if I did that."

Regan grinned over the thought and told Shannon, "Works for me," as she dipped her spoon into her bowl.

That was when Shannon started snickering suddenly. "There was _also_ a sign that said if you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat," and the line got her to start giggling in that childlike way that said she found it vastly more amusing than she might've if she were older.

Regan let a snort out and Chris was more amused by the way Shannon was laughing about it than what she'd said. But she started to cough again as she was letting out her giggles, grabbing a napkin first before she let it all go into the paper covering her mouth.

Regan watched her, and when the cough had finally cleared itself up, she sighed out, "If only I had a can of Lysol."

Shannon decided on setting the napkin in her lap and away from everyone, and cleared her throat, telling her mother, "I don't _feel_ sick, mama."

"I hope you're not getting there, Squirt," Regan retorted.

"Well, if she is, it's a good thing we know Dallas is still safe, and they're going to be looking for us," Chris mentioned, picking up his phone again and seeing that the signal still wasn't any good. "Claire's probably talking to my uncle right now. I just hope she got the part about Wesker being with us so she can warn them."

When he mentioned that, Regan pulled her spoon out of her mouth and looked over at him. It had put a thought in her head that she wanted to ask about. "Not that I want to bring up unpleasant conversation while we're eating, but I was curious about something. If they're sending out search and rescue for us, do you think Wesker is going to put up a fight of some kind?"

Chris shook his head. "No, I already asked him about that. Apparently he knows he's going to be taken into custody, and it's what he wants. For now anyway."

Regan wrinkled her brows, looking curious over the statement, but then she shook her head. "I'm not even sure I want to know. As long as he's not fighting though, that's completely fine. So, subject change. Shannon, what's the first thing you're going to do when you get to Dallas?"

Shannon quirked her brows up, looking at her mother from the glass of OJ she'd been trying to drink, and when she'd gotten the juice down, she set the cup to the side and pursed her lips. After a moment of thought, she announced, "Eat a big hamburger and some french fries and get one of those chocolate frosties I hope."

Regan snorted, nodding her head before saying on commendation, "That's my girl. Chocolate lover and fan of the tasty cow."

Shannon started snickering, asking Regan incredulously, "What? Tasty cow!"

"Careful Regan, you'll turn her into a vegetarian," Chris said with a chuckle over the way Shannon had reacted.

"I know where hamburgers come from, Chris!," Shannon retorted with a grin on her face. "I've just never heard someone say tasty cow before!"

Regan grinned while replying, "Yeah, and I already see you asking for a hamburger just like that whenever I take you to get one." She then joked, "Can I have some tasty cow please?"

As Shannon started laughing, Chris had picked up his phone to try to get it to connect to a signal again with a little grin on his face over the sound. Even though it may take them a while yet, it was nice to hear a little hope coming from them both, and even be able to feel it for himself again. Just knowing Dallas was there, and that his family was now waiting for him to arrive safely was enough to make him feel better than he had in about three weeks worth of time. Despair wasn't gnawing at his gut so persistently now, and even if he died before he got there, which he definitely wasn't planning on doing, he could die knowing they'd managed to make it.

Still, no signal found. Chris put the phone back down and continued listening to Shannon and Regan talking for a bit without interrupting them. As he did, he thought about his aunt and uncle, and realized they'd probably been worried sick this entire time—especially Tracy. The woman had complete faith in him, but he was just like her own son, and she couldn't help but worry over him no matter what he did.

Despite what happened earlier with Wesker, Chris's mood was much better than it had been. Even still, the event that had taken place earlier with Wesker was on his mind, the soreness in his jaw a reminder of what was really going on, and it was still a concern. But for now, Chris wasn't going to let it get to him. He could definitely take the news he'd just gotten from the phone call his sister had managed to place to him and focus on that for a while instead.

Besides, knowing Dallas was quarantined, Chris was going to do everything within his power to make sure Wesker found a nice cell to rot in once they got there.


	30. Search

_Chapter 29 - Search_

_ December 3__rd__, 2007_

_ U.S. 60, Texas_

_ 7:26 PM_

"I knew it!"

Claire was hugging Leon in the living room of their apartment as tightly as she ever thought she had. Like Chris, Claire had felt overwhelmed with relief when she'd heard his voice and he'd told her the words confirming he was alright. She'd felt the need to not only hug her husband because of it, but also lean on him because she'd felt somewhat weak in the knees.

Leon was smiling over her reaction because of the way she'd pretty much thrown herself at him as soon as the line had dropped—after a little anger that she couldn't reconnect that was, but that faded fast with the knowledge that her brother was alive and making his way to Dallas. The signal had been bad, but some things had gotten through, and they knew for a fact now that Chris was actually out there which was the most important thing of all.

Leon still needed to clarify the things he'd told Claire however, but he waited for her to start rather than rushing it. After all, Claire needed this moment, and he was content simply letting her have it, hugging her and feeling his own relief to know that Chris was alive and currently well. Leon didn't only think of Chris as a helpful asset in this kind of world, but also as a friend who he was glad to know was still managing to survive.

A part of him, however, wondered what Chris might do when he found out that his sister's last name wasn't legally Redfield anymore. Suddenly, Leon started chuckling softly, and it got his wife's attention.

"What's so funny?," she asked from where her chest was settled against his shoulder.

"Just wondering if I'll meet one of your brother's fists when he gets here because of a certain situation he doesn't know about yet."

Claire couldn't help but grin over the way he'd said that so plainly. Finally, she lifted her head back and took a breath because she didn't want to let out any tears or anything along those lines. She was definitely letting Chris know he was late whenever he got to Dallas though, that much she was sure of.

But she got her mind off of that and gave Leon a response by saying, "I doubt it, well, as long as it's not just sprung on him suddenly," she smirked. Following that line, she let out a long sigh of breath as if she were still recovering from the impact of the information she'd just gotten. "I'm so glad I was poking around on the phone when I was."

Smirking, Leon nodded at her, thinking about the scene he'd come home to. She'd been standing in the kitchen of the hotel room they currently lived in when he'd walked in the front door, and her voice had told him something specific was up. It didn't take him long to figure out what it was either, guessing at it before Claire saw him and waved him over, saying that her brother was on the phone.

It had been hard for her to keep the connection though, and she kept cussing whenever she'd briefly loose him to static. The thought made Leon ask her, "Did you get where he is precisely?"

"No, that part kept skipping out," she grumbled in response, then turned her blue eyes back up at him and expounded a little more on the conversation. "All I heard for certain was that they're in west Texas coming from New Mexico. I think he tried to tell me the route they're on right now, but it went into static where I couldn't hear him."

"Typical." Leon muttered out the word as if everything _always_ went that way, sometimes wondering if their lives were just a badly written story, and he sighed out a breath over the notion. Still, he told his wife in addition, "But we can send someone out to look tonight. Did he say anything else?"

"Yes, he said he had some information about the outbreaks and that he's coming in with five other people." When those words were out of her mouth, Claire trailed for a second. The thought of what she was about to say worried her because, even if Chris had said he was safe, she had a hell of a hard time imagining how that could be possible with who he said was in his company now.

Narrowing her brows as she looked back up at Leon, she added on a grim tone, "Wesker's one of them. Chris said Wesker is with him."

That stopped her husband's thoughts in their tracks. Leon hesitated, unable to help it as he gave Claire an uncertain look. Claire could tell from the expression that the words took him aback just like they had her too.

"Wait, not," he paused and added pointedly, "_Albert_ Wesker?"

"The same," she nodded. "He said it twice to confirm it, the one part of the conversation that came in clear as a bell. He also ensured that he was fine though, to tell you and George about it ASAP so you could get some men geared up because it was high priority. So the sooner we can find him, the better. But," she shook her head, "_why_ is Wesker with him? That just doesn't make any sense. Wesker _hates_ him, and Chris hates him back, so I can't imagine what's going on and why he would be safe if Wesker is there."

"Same here," Leon started when his wife trailed off into thought, "but it can't be good whatever the situation is. Let's go tell your Uncle and get someone out to look for them right away. Chris is right, this will be high enough priority to get a chopper off of the ground within the hour. I just hope we actually have some man power to spare for it and if not, agents we can call off their current jobs to go after him."

"Right," Claire replied, and she turned to go and grab her coat as Leon went to the door, then held it for her on the way out.

It wasn't long afterward, just like Leon had said, before choppers were lifting off of the roof at the hotel where he and Claire were living. Claire was standing up there with them, watching the aircraft from where she stood as they rose to the sky, her ponytail getting blown about in the process.

Leon was riding on the search to hopefully find Chris and the survivors with him, maybe even that very night if things were good—but Claire didn't completely count on things being good at that point in time. She shook her head slowly and let out a sigh of breath as her bangs drifted around her face in the winds generated by the helicopter's rotary blades, having no doubts that Chris, if he'd made it this far, would make it all the way to Dallas.

But she wasn't expecting to see him the next day in specific.

Only hoping.

There was a soldier standing near her on the roof who looked back over at her after the two helicopters had flown off into the distance, and he said, "I hope they get your brother back here soon."

Claire looked up at the man, recognizing him as someone Leon called Ships, though she wasn't sure if that was his last name or not. But she'd seen him around quite a few times, even in Atlanta. Ships was close to Claire's age with a head of buzzed blonde hair, and he had never met Chris, but Leon had told him about everything going on.

When he made the comment, Claire smiled at him in response. "Thanks, Ships. He'll get here somehow, by land or air, but I know he will."

Ships nodded at her, a friendly smile on his face—everyone in Dallas tried to cling to as much hope as possible whenever they could and wherever they could find it—and he replied, "Have a lot of faith in him?"

"Definitely," Claire informed him on an assured tone of voice, still smiling as she turned around to head back inside from the cold night air. It had to be around fifty degrees Fahrenheit, and was getting cloudy in fact. She just hoped it wasn't going to rain. That was the last thing they'd need in a search and rescue because it would only lower their visibility, especially at night. But hopefully the rains in Dallas wouldn't show up in Western Texas where the search was going to take place.

Once Claire was walking down the corridor below, her head tilted forward while thinking about everything going on now, she looked up after a few moments to see her uncle rounding the corner. She realized from the look on his face that he was apparently coming to see her in particular, and her Aunt Tracy was right beside him.

Claire smiled brightly as soon as she saw them both, and as they drew closer to one another, they hugged each other tightly.

Tracy was a very slender woman with a shoulder length head of salt and pepper hair that she liked to keep curled beneath at the ends which had been an auburn color in her youth, and just from looking at her, someone might think a strong wind would blow her over. But Claire knew better, Tracy was a tough cookie, and when she saw the tears in the woman's eyes after hugging her, she almost shed a few of her own.

"Don't cry, Tracy," Claire told her. "You'll get us all crying."

"I know, I know," Tracy nodded, swiping her fingers at her eyes. "I'm trying not to, but when your uncle said those words to me when he came to get me, I couldn't help it."

Tracy loved Chris like a son, and why wouldn't she? She'd raised him as if he were hers since he was seven. Tracy was only related to the two of them by marriage however—George was their father's brother—but she couldn't have children herself, and they'd always been close even before the deaths of their mother and father.

"Well, you know Chris," Claire reminded her aunt with a grin as she stood back from their embrace, then looked at her uncle to say, "and yes, George, Leon just left with the choppers to look for him."

"Good," George replied, then smiled at Claire because she knew him well enough to know that he was going to ask. "Now we just need to hope he stands out like a sore thumb." The general then mused aloud, "I wonder if there's any chance he's got a bunch of flares and neon paint out there?"

The line made his niece chuckle softly. "Honestly," Claire started, "I think finding him will be the easy part if what I heard about western Texas is true. The problem is going to be actually _getting to him_," she enunciated. "Hopefully with all of the farmland out that way though, I'm wrong and there's not too many infected wandering about."

George let out a low sigh of breath. Even Claire had more personal experience with this kind of nightmare than he did, and he didn't take her words for granted. "I wanted to give Leon an armed escort, but I don't have one big enough for five people fitted with any weaponry that aren't already out in use right now, and I can't call the protection off of their rounds."

Claire knew that was true, and she gave him a nod of her head before saying, "Well, that's why you sent the Little Bird with them. It'll come in handy." She was referring to the smaller, two man craft that was fitted with machine guns heading out with the chopper Leon was in currently.

"Right. I'll contact Atlanta in the meantime, ask General Kirkhall if he has any to spare. That way, if they come back empty handed tonight, we'll have some Black Hawks at our disposal."

"Good idea. Hopefully, Charles can supply them," Tracy started, referring to the General that George had just mentioned as they turned to head back down the hallway. Tracy had been an air force wife for a long time after all, so she was definitely up to date on the chatter and knew the people George was referring to.

"I also need to get in touch with Reggie. The BSAA needs to know about this. They'll likely lend a few people to help in finding him," George added. "There's probably some of their numbers at the border of Mexico they could easily send in."

Claire let out a sigh of breath, thinking all of this over as her uncle spoke. Reginald Dreyer, the current lead commander of the Northern American Division of the BSAA, was a good friend of Chris's. In fact, Chris didn't know it, but his rank had likely risen. Sadly, the BSAA had been on the front lines fighting the outbreaks so much that they'd lost quite a number of people. The most casualties had been in the US Armed Forces, and the Air Force had suffered losses as well, but the BSAA had suffered more than the Air Force had.

So when Chris came back, he'd probably be promoted to commander—saying he would take such a promotion which Claire questioned—as soon as he stepped foot in Dallas. But Claire wasn't sure if he would or not for two reasons. First of all, Chris was an operative because he'd always felt better being out in the field, something he'd told Claire himself more than once. He was a high ranking agent in his company, but he didn't want to be behind a desk, and in many ways Claire couldn't blame him for that. So he'd never let them promote him before.

But this was a different story. Being a commander in this world didn't mean sitting behind a desk too often, and also, Wesker was with Chris. If they actually managed to capture him, Claire had alternately heard Chris say before that he wouldn't feel one bit bad about standing watch all day long, as he put it so eloquently, "just waiting for the sorry sack of shit to rot until he dried up into a white dog turd."

_My brother is just so colorful sometimes_. The thought made Claire snort in amusement without meaning to, and she covered her mouth with her hand to try to contain her chuckling.

"What was that?," George asked, hearing the sounds as they'd turned down the hallway where the elevator was located. "What's so funny, Claire?"

"Oh nothing, just thinking about something Chris said one time."

"What about?"

George pressed the button for the elevator when Tracy asked that question. Apparently, the transport unit hadn't moved since Claire's aunt and uncle had arrived on that floor because the doors opened up immediately and they managed to step inside without waiting. But it was late and so it stood to reason no one would be using it just then.

As they stepped inside and George pushed the button for the floor they needed, Claire gave Tracy a hesitant look, complete with a sheepish smile. Tracy eyed her in return, and then lifted those blue eyes upward with a knowing smirk.

"I get it, it's something colorful he said that you thought was funny."

"Yeah, something like that," Claire replied, still grinning. "I'm sure you'll hear plenty of it from him whenever he gets here."

It was true, but the line made Tracy suddenly look as if she were fighting a frown. Shaking her head, she sighed out a breath and said, "I'm not going to make it this evening without shedding a few tears."

Claire gave her a sympathetic look and stepped over without question to hug her again, knowing exactly how she felt. That was when she suddenly heard Tracy break on a little sob of sound.

"It's alright, Tracy," she started in an attempt to comfort her aunt. "We know he's alive now."

"Oh, I know," Tracy replied, taking a breath and attempting to control herself before she added the words, "I just keep thinking how he's been out there all this time."

"I know," Claire sighed out softly as George drew his hand up and down his wife's back in the additional effort of comfort. Then she reminded the woman, "But if anyone can get through this, you know he can."

"She's right, Tracy. Don't forget Chris is tough as nails. I swear he makes me think of James."

Claire smiled over the reference to her father, standing back and informing them both, "You guys didn't raise any softies, that's for sure."

With those words spoken, and Tracy silently nodding her head to them and smiling through her tears, she stood back from the hug Claire had given her and then leaned against her husband while Claire said, "In the meantime, would you guys mind some company tonight? I know Leon won't be back for a while, and I don't want to stay in that room alone after all of this."

"Of course, honey," Tracy nodded. "Honestly, I wanted to ask you if you would myself."

Claire grinned, nodding at her aunt in agreement. "Good, then I'll just go to my room, grab some things, and leave a note for Leon so he'll know where I am."

She did just that. Claire found herself in the bedroom of her hotel not long later, packing away a few items of clothing to wear into a simple duffle bag. Once she had the clothing inside, she settled the item on the floor and then turned around, let out a breath and suddenly sat down on the mattress of her bed. She couldn't help herself. Now that she was alone, everything was starting to hit her, and while she was relieved, she was also grieved.

Some cities were quarantined, but they fought hard everyday just to keep them that way. Satellite control still hadn't been completely restored, the vaccine hadn't been manufactured on a large enough scale to provide it to everyone—which was the Vice President's plan the last Claire had heard. Contingency plans were being developed constantly in order to evacuate survivors for worst case scenarios, and all they could do in the meantime was wait to see which way the door would swing.

The city was under martial law. People had curfews on when they had to be back indoors, or they'd likely be shot on site unless they could provide proper identification saying they had permission or had some kind of emergency situation. It was safe in Dallas, Atlanta, and Boston, but it wasn't _normal_. Claire couldn't complain about that though, not at all. It was much better than the alternative of living with monsters trying to kill you at every turn.

She looked down at her hands, reaching to her left ring finger and twisting the white gold band on it back and forth a few times. Leon still hadn't gotten her a diamond, she thought with a little smirk, remembering how he'd promised that he would, which was a promise that made her feel heated whenever she thought about it. That was a night she wouldn't forget.

Claire pushed that intimate memory out of her head though. Anytime Leon left Dallas, she tried her best not to think about him in the way that he was her husband and that something bad could have happened to him. She thought of him whenever he was gone as a government agent instead, and it helped to ease her worries just a bit. This definitely wasn't the first time he'd had to leave either, having various reasons to travel into the world at large since the outbreaks began on more than one occasion.

But this time it was different. This time he was going to find Chris. Somehow, it seemed more imperative than ever that he returned safely.

Claire blew her breath out in a manner that flipped her bangs up and got them a bit out of place. She remembered when she'd arrived in Atlanta and had finally received word that her aunt and uncle were safe in Dallas. She'd asked about her brother immediately, but no one knew. It took Leon doing a little digging to find out that a chopper had been sent to Wyoming to extract him, but they never found him. There were no signs of him anywhere, so they'd gone to see if they could track him down, but things were getting so bad that they were called off of the task to go elsewhere.

Claire could understand the state of the world taking precedence to finding one single agent in it, but she'd told them to let _her_ take a chopper up with someone who could fly it, that _she'd_ go and look for him herself. Sadly, that wasn't an option—not even Leon could pull that kind of favor for her. It made her feel helpless, and reminded her of Rockfort Island, of Antarctica, the fact that she'd gone to look for Chris and inevitably, _he'd_ found her.

It was almost like history was repeating itself in a way. But at least she'd managed to get the damned call to go through finally.

Claire picked up her phone and dialed his number, then pressed send. Maybe she'd be lucky and get in touch with him long enough to say she was sorry she couldn't do more, but the line never connected, a sound she'd gotten used to over the past few weeks emanating from her phone. Pressing the end button, she stood up and grabbed her duffle bag and tugged the strap over her shoulder, then went to the table next to the bed where a picture of Leon and herself was settled, one that Tracy had taken of them when she'd found out they were married, and Claire smirked when she saw it as she opened the drawer, searching for a piece of paper.

Once she found a notebook, she tore a clean sheet out of it and then walked into the kitchen. There was a pen on a magnet attached to the refrigerator which she took in hand and then put to the paper, writing Leon a note. As she completed the task, she stuck the pen back into the magnet and then walked around the bar and into the living room, looking for the best place to stick the note where Leon might see it as soon as he came back.

The room was neat, two couches settled across from one another with a glass coffee table in the center, and a television sat at the far side. She looked from there and to the front door, and finally at the desk near the door where the bag containing her laptop computer was because she knew there was a roll of scotch tape in the first drawer.

A few moments later, Claire was leaving the hotel room, and on the wall opposite the desk was a mirror by the door next to the coat rack where Leon always put his jacket whenever he came in. Taped to it was a note written in red ink located in the center of the glass because she knew he'd see it there whenever he hung his jacket up. It read simply, "Leon, went to go stay with Tracy and George for tonight. I'll see you later, and I love you. Claire."

_Six Hours Later_

_ Western Texas_

_ December 4__th__, 2007_

_ 1:15 AM_

The helicopters flew overhead at a low altitude, their rotary blades generating a sound that swept over the planes below them. Rain pelted down against the metal of the aircraft and the front windshields, which decreased the pilot's visibility, though the flood lights roaming across the grass and roadways below offered a good bit of illumination.

Leon was settled in the back with several soldiers, listening to the transmissions on the headset he wore over his left ear, the pilots reporting on what they were seeing and where they were. So far, no visual contact had been made with any vehicles moving along the roads they'd checked, but they had a lot of ground to cover.

Contact was being kept with their command center in Dallas, reporting to them on their progress and status. They also got an update that more helicopters were being sent in from Atlanta in order to try to widen the search field, but their ETA wasn't going to be for a while, at least another three or four hours.

Leon looked outside of the window, just able to see the Little Bird accompanying them in the distance, armed with machine guns incase they needed the firepower, and he heard them reporting over the headset that B.O.W.'s had been spotted to the north northwest. He looked down and tilted his head a bit, and when he did, he got a visual himself confirming they were right. There was a roving band of the undead walking along in no particular direction, simply lumbering through the rain over the fields and the roadways, and Leon's eyes drifted downward, parting his lips to let out a sigh of breath over the sight of it.

_"We've got visual on the swarm below, about thirty roaming corpses give or take._"

"_Let them roam_," came the response from the pilot of the craft that Leon was on, _"this isn't a combat mission, Ladies, so keep your panties on._"

Leon looked toward the window when he heard the voices over his headset, knowing why they wouldn't simply shoot the zombies below them now. If they did, certainly they would take out some of them, but they would also risk them mutating further, into something even more dangerous, as well as wasting ammo when it wasn't necessary. So unless they were required to land, shooting the swarm was out of the question for now.

The pilot flying the bigger helicopter, the same one who'd just told them to keep their panties on, was named Alan Jack, and people consistently called him by the nickname of Ajax. He was one of the more colorful men stationed in Dallas, and in Leon's opinion, one of the more reliable ones. The pilot flying the Little Bird was also an accomplished pilot, he was just a little more squeamish about things than most due to being younger and less experienced.

"_We'll be coming up on Muleshoe soon, and visual is clear, Big Bird, confirm that._"

"_Roger that, Little Bird, radar's as clean as a virgin's honeypot except that blob of a swarm we just crossed._"

One of the soldiers settled in the back near Leon let out a soft chuckle and shook his head over the way Ajax had put that. That's when they heard the words, "_Muleshoe is coming up now, keep your eyes open_."

The town could be seen only vaguely in the distance with the naked eye, the rains making it harder to actually spot it. Leon could see it becoming more and more defined as they drew closer to it however, the buildings shrouded in distant darkness, another ghost town of many about in the world currently. But what drew his attention was a gathering of corpses below them by a field in what looked like a potential feeding frenzy.

"_Looks like someone caught dinner._" Ajax sounded completely unaffected by the visual.

"_What the hell are they eating?_"

"_Roaming animal of some kind, horse more than likely_," came Ajax's response. "_Plenty of them out this way._"

Leon had seen that kind of thing before, and he agreed with Ajax. There wouldn't be so many zombies concentrating in one place if it were a person they were eating for one simple reason—there wouldn't be enough to go around to them all, and whatever had that group's attention was keeping it centered.

Leon pushed the thought from his head, half sad and half grateful that he knew that. Instead of concentrating on it though, he wondered briefly if they might've been searching _too_ close to the border. Chris might've made it further into Texas by then, but with only two helicopters out searching now, and more that were still en route from Atlanta, it wasn't going to be easy to find much of anything period.

After a while however, he heard something very strange that made him look up at the cockpit where Ajax was seated, the man saying, "_Little Bird, I'm detecting something fuzzy on radar here, hard to get a lock on it, but it appears to be a singular object northeast moving eastbound on route 70. What's your reading on that?_"

"_Copy that, Big Bird. It's moving pretty fast, but it doesn't look like a vehicle on thermal view, especially not one big enough for five people. Radar's too fuzzy to confirm that from here. Moving in to try to get a visual confirmation._"

"_Copy that_," Ajax replied, continuing to fly steadily while their partner moved on ahead of them in the sky. He then reported to command, "_Command, be informed we're investigating movement along route 70 now that could possible be our contact_."

The Little Bird moved over the outskirts of the town they weren't too far away from as command confirmed their situation in response. The flood lights of the helicopter went shining across the fields and to the somewhat narrow roadway near the position where the blip they'd seen on radar had shown up.

After a few moments worth of time in looking, the pilot of the smaller aircraft reported by saying, "_I'm not seeing anything on the road...what the fuck was that?_"

Leon looked back through the window, and as soon as he did, he heard Ajax asking, "_Say again, Little Bird, what's going on up there?_"

"_It's gone, whatever it was. It just disappeared from the radar, and I can't see anything down there._"

"_What do you mean it just disappeared? I've still got it on my...wait, what the hell?_"

Silence followed that line, and suddenly the Little Bird reported back, saying, "_I've got it again, it looks like it moved about half a kilometer east from it's former position, whatever it is. It's not on the road anymore. Thermal's not matching up to it properly._"

Leon, along with everyone else, didn't like the sound of that. Ajax replied by confirming, "_Copy that, I have it on radar in the same place now_," then he trailed for a moment as if trying to figure that out. Finally, he just shook his head and added, "_Fall back into position, Little Bird, we can't afford to check it out. If it's not on the road, then it's not our target._"

"_Roger that, falling back_."

Outside of the currently hovering, larger helicopter, the Little Bird started to fall back as they'd been ordered to, and Leon sat back against his seat, trying to figure out what the hell they might've just come across down there. Maybe a swiftly moving B.O.W., or even an animal of some kind. He knew those radars weren't the best in technology due to what they had at their current disposal, so it wouldn't be easy to tell from them alone, though the thermal view might've suggested something if they'd gotten a better look. Command in Dallas was coming in on the headset as well, asking for an update, but before one could be given, and before Leon could really consider the situation completely, something unexpected happened.

He and the other men suddenly jolted and stared out the window as a loud explosion sounded, flames encompassing the small, armed helicopter that had been hovering a distance away from them, the light of the flames illuminating the helicopter nearby as it went up without any warning, including the shocked faces of the people on board it.

Debris began to fall out of the sky, some of the force from the explosion making the helicopter they were in waver, the men inside holding on, keeping themselves steady. Leon grabbed the handle above the window in his own effort to do so, and reached for his headset with the other hand so he could speak into it.

"Ajax, what the hell was that!"

"_I don't know, thermal's blocked by the blast, and radar's not showing anything specific, but that had to be weapons fire of some type!_"

"Then get us the hell out of here before it happens again!"

"_Copy that!_"

Leon heard Ajax reporting to Command in Dallas as he began to get them the hell out of there, telling them exactly what had just happened. Command sounded confused, but it wasn't too long before they had been issued the order to abandon the search until the Black Hawks from Atlanta could arrive. Ajax confirmed their new orders and began to turn back to Dallas while Leon got the feeling there was much more to this than what it had appeared to be.

As luck had it, they weren't shot down on the way back to Dallas as the Little Bird had obviously been, and alternately, they didn't find Chris or anyone he was with currently. Even when they finally reached Dallas, the rains hadn't let up, and Leon stepped out of the helicopter and onto the roof with the other soldiers while the water drops soaking through his hair and jacket. He didn't pay that any mind as he headed to the door however and tugged out his PDA. Pressing a button on the screen, Hunnigan's face popped up, the image of her face clear in the city where signals were strongest currently.

"I heard what happened, Leon," Hunnigan told him without needing any kind of greeting before they started speaking.

"I figured you had. I want to know if there's anything available from that flight. Did Command gather any of the radar data or thermal imaging we were using?"

"I was going to look into that as soon as you reported in," Hunnigan informed him. "The data was just transmitted from the helicopter that you arrived on. Give me a minute so I can compile what you need from the time frame when the helicopter exploded."

"No problem," Leon replied and came to a stop in the hallway just beyond the door that led inside from the rooftop. A few soldiers that were also heading inside walked past him when he did, moving on to report to their superiors, and as Leon waited, he considered everything he could possibly think of again that would explain the sudden destruction of the armed helicopter that had been sent out with them on their search, including the way the radar's had been fuzzy in detecting it.

He'd had his ideas on the way back to Dallas, none of them entirely pleasant, and when he finally heard Hunnigan speaking again, he looked back at the device he held in his hand displaying her face and focused on what she was telling him.

"Alright, you should have all the relevant data I could find on such short notice. I hope you can figure something out because it doesn't look like anything but colorful ink blots to me."

"Good, let me take a look and then get back to you."

Leon closed their connection for the moment not long after saying that to her, then went to open the folder where the data would've been downloaded onto his device and stored, opening the images. He flipped through them one by one, seeing mostly blue tones in the thermal data that they'd managed to collect from the helicopter he'd come back on. As the images went, the red dot got bigger with tones of orange and yellow mixed in, but like Hunnigan had said, it didn't look like anything but a blot of ink.

Leon stopped though and went back to a previous image. Something caught his eye, and he began to zoom in on the blot. The bigger the image got, the more fuzzy it became, but in that fuzziness was a very familiar shape. It was humanistic, and Leon compared it at the same zoom level to other images in order to see if he could make out anything more solid.

Finally, he stopped on one that was much more defined. His brows narrowed as recognition set in.

Hunnigan got a call back from him a moment later, and when she saw his face, she told him, "You don't look like you found anything pleasant."

"That's because I didn't. We've got a tyrant on the loose. It probably took the helicopter down because it got too close and was perceived to be a threat."

"A tyrant?," Hunnigan asked him, uncertainty in her voice. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I compared the images and zoomed in, and if it's _not_ a tyrant, then it's an extremely large human with the ability to scramble radar and stay undetected."

Hunnigan looked as if she were taking that in for a moment, asking, "Do you think that's why they couldn't get a positive sighting of it?"

"Pretty sure. These things are built," Leon started in explanation, "so who's to say what kind of technology was put into this one in particular, including some way of keeping it from being detected so easily. Ajax confirmed it moved from one spot on the radar to half a kilometer away in a short amount of time, and that says the readings weren't correct, as well as why the Little Bird couldn't get a visual confirmation on it. They were looking in the wrong place."

Hunnigan listened, and by the time Leon was done, she'd been convinced he was right about it, especially if he recognized something in the thermal imagery that she might not have because she'd never actually seen a tyrant before, not up close and personal like Leon had anyway. That would've helped him to identify it faster than anyone else.

After she'd considered that, she pointed out, "Someone would have sent that for a reason, to perform some kind of mission particular."

"Exactly. That's why I'm going to report it right now. There's something going on, and I get the feeling it might have to do with Chris, or Wesker. Maybe both of them. In the meantime, you know what to do."

"Got it, I'll make sure this is sent out on the wire ASAP."

"Thanks, Hunnigan," Leon replied, letting out a sigh of breath. "I'll get back to you once this is done."

The connection was cut, and Leon made it to the elevator and pressed the button. Once he had, and began to wait for a moment, he let out a sigh of breath and tilted his head forward in thought. He knew it was a tyrant that had taken out the Little Bird, all the signs just pointed to it, and he was sure that if Claire knew what had happened, she'd point the it out too because she was no stranger to those things herself. The only question was _what_ this tyrant was doing out there, and would it endanger anyone trying to search for Chris?

It wasn't something Leon could just ignore either. He would have to let Command know, and while he didn't think they would call off a search, he somehow got the feeling they might reevaluate its importance regardless of anything else.

Somehow, things just seemed to keep getting better and better, he thought on a sarcastic note.


	31. Complications

_Chapter 30 - Complications_

_ December, 5__th__, 2007_

_ West Texas_

_ 3:19 AM_

The entire day had been one long, rainy, shitty ride.

They had to abandon the route they were traveling down when it passed through a small town that was running rampant with corpses. Wesker saw that there was no way he would have been able to simply plow through so many when the roads were so narrow and there was the possibility that there could have been blocks in the forms of cars and whatever else in the way, so he made a turn down a road that wouldn't take them to Dallas. Instead, it made them head south for a good trek, and they lost a bit of fuel because of that in the process.

He finally managed to get back onto a more promising roadway later that took them north toward a highway that would eventually lead them eastbound, but even getting _there_ had almost ended in disaster. They came across yet another small town where corpses had gathered along the roadways that stood in their way, but this time, they didn't have an exit they could turn off of. Instead, they were forced to gear up inside the two hitched vehicles and be ready as they passed the corpses outside in the pouring rain—which wasn't helping Wesker to see any better despite his keen vision—waiting for another situation to arise like in Santa Rosa where they'd have to abandon ship so to speak.

They got lucky. The small town barely had any cars in the roadways, as if there hadn't been many people who had tried to head through that area and gotten stopped for some reason or another. So they managed to pass most of the undead without too much trouble, though every now and again, the hummer and the RV would bump over a body it was crushing beneath its wheels, which simply wasn't a pleasant thought or sound.

Shannon had gotten squeamish whenever it happened. She was hunkered down with Regan on the floor near the kitchen counter. Chris was up near the front behind the seats so he could see outside, and both of the adults had gotten their weapons ready. Chris was silent, watching through the front window and into the outside world, when he'd heard Shannon whimper as a nasty crunch sounded beneath the wheels of the vehicles. They were moving pretty fast, and Regan played the sound off to be bumps in the road. Whether Shannon believed her or not though, it was hard to tell as she'd buried her face against her mother's chest and wasn't moving currently.

Chris wished she didn't have to see or go through any of this, and he noticed Regan looking over at him and shaking her head as if to say she wished for the same thing. He returned an expression that said he knew what she meant, and they both went back to waiting to see how this ride might fair out.

When they were in the clear, the car got back onto the open highway again and headed north until a road could be reached that would lead them to their destination.

They stopped in the evening to refuel, and realized that there was only a canister and a half left of gas. With all of the turns and backtracking they'd had to make that day, neither of them felt the amount would get them to Dallas. They would have to make a pit stop somewhere in order to find more, and they would have to be careful and selective about _where_ they went considering many of the small towns out that way seemed to have a sadly large number of zombies surrounding them.

They did have enough to last for a while longer however, and with all of the backtracking, Wesker thought it would be more strategically beneficial to wait until morning before they stopped again because of how many undead they'd seen roaming about that day.

That evening, bedtime came for Shannon, who Regan couldn't help but notice was coughing more and more, and she'd began to sound raspy. Shannon said her throat felt irritated, but besides that, she was fine, and she even acted as if she were. But she got tired, and Regan wanted her to take things easy and get some rest just incase the coughing was all a calm before some kind of storm. So she put the child to bed and laid down with her in order to help her go to sleep more easily.

Chris didn't bother them, only made himself a little dinner that night after the pair had laid down while considering they were fortunate to have one another, and he thought about them both for longer than he meant to. He turned off the lights in the kitchen to save on the battery power, and then sat down to eat and try his phone again with the considerations in mind.

Nothing connected on the phone though, and after a while of pushing buttons to try to get it to after he'd finished his food, he found himself nodding off. He woke once with the phone still in his hand, realizing he'd gone to sleep, so he just set the device on the table while still only half awake, turned, and laid on his back, falling to sleep again without much trouble.

Sadly, the longer he slept, the more disturbed his sleep became.

It was an inescapable nightmare, one that Chris didn't have every night, but he was living it everyday now, and going to sleep only to dream about it just pissed him off. The dead were walking the Earth again, withered corpses, decaying, broken in places, rotting away all over, but still managing to move as if alive. With bloody gore stuck in their teeth, beneath their dirt encrusted nails, they reached closer and stared out with lifeless, murky eyes in hunger. Horror, anguish, and sorrow lurked in every corner, and most of all, death. It was the same as a dozen other nightmares Chris had before, each one potent and vivid.

He jerked where he laid on the couch during the dream. In it, he was trying to hide, stuck in the dark and uncertain of where his gun was when he couldn't find it strapped to his leg where he usually put it. One of the slowly moving, rotting corpses caught sight of him with lifeless, murky eyes, and began to turn, increasing his need to find the damned weapon. It was heading right for him now while he was cornered and unable to respond, seeing the monster reaching out with gnarled, boney fingers. Urgency and dread he'd felt a hundred times before gripped him as the walking corpse got closer, and as soon as it touched his arm, he found the gun strapped to his chest instead of his leg and sat up quickly.

Before he could get the weapon out, he felt a hand landing on his own with a swift motion of movement, and he noticed the scenery changing around him, as well as the current company. Instead of hiding, he was in the RV, and instead of a zombie with a decaying face reaching for him, there was one much more familiar and easily more pleasing to look at residing near him.

"It's just me."

It didn't take Chris long to response, and he drew out the word, "Shit...," before taking in a deep breath. "Sorry, Regan. Don't sneak up on me like that."

Regan, in seeing that he'd gotten hold of himself from his bad dream, shook her head and replied quietly, "It's okay. You wouldn't answer me, so I tried to shake you awake." She then pulled her hand from his where she'd reached to stop him from tugging his gun out on her, then looked back up to his face, adding, "I didn't mean to startle you though."

"I know," Chris replied, "I figured that when I realized who you were."

He grew quiet after that and put his forehead into his palm, rubbing his eyes. That wasn't the first time he'd awoken that way, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. Hell, he'd pulled a gun on Jill before at least twice. She'd done the same to him as well. It just happened from time to time. The trouble was whether or not Regan would understand that, but hell, if she got angry, she got angry. Chris couldn't say he'd blame her for it because if he was in her shoes, he might not understand either.

"Chris?"

Regan's voice broke through his thoughts and he moved his hand from his face to look back over at her without too much thought given to his movements. The tone she'd used was gentle in a soft spoken sort of way, and he saw that she looked concerned instead of angry.

When she had his attention again, she asked, "Nightmare?"

"Yeah," he replied, letting out his breath and looking away from her again. "It happens sometimes."

He began to stare ahead of himself at nothing after telling her that, and Regan suggested, "I'd think it probably a common thing for you."

She saw Chris nodding, but the movements were vague, as if he weren't really thinking about it or even realized he was doing it. But then he turned as if snapping himself back to reality perhaps, lifting his legs and settling the work boots he wore on the floor. Once he was sitting upright with his arms on his knees, Regan pushed herself up from where she'd been crouched next to the sectional he'd been sleeping on and sat on it a few feet away from him. Even though she figured this was probably a common thing for him to go through, she wanted to be sure he was alright before leaving him alone. She owed him that much at least.

"I heard you from the bedroom," she started in casual explanation. "You sounded like you were stuck in a bad situation, and I hadn't been sleeping very well tonight anyway. Shannon keeps shifting around in her sleep, and it woke me. So when I heard you, I thought I should come check."

His voice was somewhat soft and vague as he replied, "Sorry if I worried you."

Regan was silent at first, noticing how he seemed to be a little distant, as if his head was just in left field like Shannon had put it before. After thinking about that for a moment, she finally told him, "Not too much." She smirked and then said on a somewhat amused voice, "Only when you reached for the gun."

Chris hesitated, but heard himself saying in response, "That's why you don't need to do that. I'm not a careless shot, but if I did pull a gun and didn't snap out of the dream fast enough, well...," he trailed as if that told the story for him. Chris didn't think he would shoot someone accidentally, but the fact that the dreams he had from time to time could be vivid enough to make him do such a thing always made him feel like shit.

Regan watched him curiously after those words were spoken. She only knew Chris so well, so she couldn't claim to be certain what the best way of handling this might've been, or how to make him feel a little better, but she could tell he didn't like it. Nightmares were nightmares after all, and they affected everyone differently whenever they were had. It was just a matter of figuring out what method of comfort worked best for what person.

So she attempted humor first. "I'll just throw something at you to wake you up next time, like a bucket of cold water."

She thought it was at least a little funny if not a corny line, but Chris apparently didn't. He didn't even move. He just sat there quietly. _Okay, so humor doesn't work on him like this._

Just to make sure she hadn't offended him, she asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," he replied quickly enough to tell her she hadn't, but his tone was still quiet. "I was just thinking about if you'd been Shannon, and something like this happened. She doesn't know any better and probably wouldn't understand it."

The words were telling to Regan about the way he looked at Shannon and also, the way he looked at himself. She couldn't help but ask him about it. "You think that makes you too dangerous to be around her?"

Chris looked back at her when she'd asked that, and all he could do was simply say, "I don't know to be honest. Sometimes, I question myself."

"Well, I'd rather you question yourself than think you have it all figured out, Chris," Regan replied on a very plain tone of voice that said she was being honest. She suddenly had a thought then, and she mused it aloud to him by saying, "Seems like _that's_ when you become dangerous, like Wesker. From what I've seen and what you've told me about him, he acts like he has it all figured out, so he doesn't have to worry about the way anyone else feels. He can just do what he pleases because he _knows_." The last word was spoken in a mocking fashion.

Chris had thought a lot about those kinds of things before when it came to Wesker in general, and he'd considered that very idea as well. "I know, I'd thought of that before too," he informed her, then looked ahead again and let his head rest forward a bit with his elbows still braced against his knees. "But you two are on _my_ watch for now. I'm the one who brought Wesker along with a tyrant chasing him down, so you don't need to have me pointing a gun in your faces just because I had a damned dream."

"No," Regan agreed on a thoughtful voice, deciding she should try to be understanding with him now. After all, if he'd spent a lot of time fighting the way the world was now, it stood to reason he'd probably sustain a bit of psychological trauma, and how could someone blame him for that?

So she told him, "You're right, we don't need that in specific. But it's not like you did anything unquestionable considering what you _have_ been through, and it's also not as if we're your assignment, Chris. You're also not some dangerous jerk who does whatever he feels like whenever the mood strikes him. You just reacted to a bad dream, that's all. Anyone would under the same conditions."

With a sigh, Chris told her in response, "You know, I really hate how understanding you can be. I'd rather you got pissed off and fought with me about it."

Okay, so understanding was just irritating him. Regan tried not to smirk over it, though he wasn't looking so it did show a little before she asked him, "Is that how others handle it?"

He just shrugged a shoulder and stayed silent. When that happened, Regan let out a little sigh of breath and went on to say, "Well, believe me, I'm not _always_ understanding. I've got a temper too, it just doesn't seem like it's worth using at the moment. You've been through some bad shit, so why the hell should I argue with you over it? Would that make you feel better or something?"

He didn't reply except to shake his head tell her, "Just don't worry about it."

"Oh, it's too late for that," Regan countered. Hell, arguing with him over getting an answer was worth more than arguing about what had just happened in her estimate. "Now you're just being evasive."

Finally, Chris showed a little more than just indifference, asking, "Why the hell do you care what I'm being?"

There was a definite spark to the tone, and Regan wondered if it had any bite or if it were just bark. Still, she replied quickly by saying, "I don't know, why do you care that you almost pulled a gun on me?"

Chris watched her for a moment, his expression fairly unpleasant, and Regan had an expectant look on her face that said she was waiting on some kind of explanation. After a moment of holding the stares, she told him, "I care because you feel like shit about it and I know you do, just like you care about the way I feel because you're a decent person."

With a groan, Chris looked ahead again, and wondered if he should even attempt to talk to her anymore about it. This was the kind of shit he didn't like to express usually, but in a way, he wanted to just then and it was irritating. Too much was bottled up inside of him with everything going on to just keep it all down without expressing some of his annoyances, and he needed to find a way to let it out. Seemed like this was a good opportunity, and he also got the feeling that Regan wasn't going to judge him, which was always nice to know. So finally, he told her a little more than he'd done so far.

"You're not the first person I've done that too. My partner Jill, for example. I've pulled one on her twice before. Other times, she took it away from me before she attempted to shake me awake. She's pulled hers too," he added, remembering one day when he'd found her sleeping not so tranquilly at a desk. When he went to shake her shoulder, a gun suddenly came out, the barrel pressed to his cheek, and he froze in place until Jill recognized him.

Shaking his head in thought over the memory, Chris told Regan, "So I know what it's like to suddenly have a gun in your face and wonder if the person holding it recognizes you yet or if they'll blow you away before they do. I didn't point a gun just now, but I easily could have."

"But you don't blame her for it, do you?," Regan asked him.

Chris hated that she'd asked that, but he shook his head, "No, I don't blame her at all."

"Well then, I feel a little more justified for not blaming you." Her words were slightly sarcastic, as if saying she'd felt justified to begin with. "Specifically after seeing the world the way it is now, I'd be stupid to hold it against you. You know, if things keep going they way they're going, the same thing could end up happening to me. Then what happens when my daughter tries to shake _me_ awake and I pull a gun on her myself?"

Chris looked over at her after she asked the rhetorical question, seeing that she was pursing her lips at him with a fairly serious expression on her face, but she gave a shrug of her shoulders. "It doesn't seem like it can be avoided. The world's full of paranoia and fear now. Dallas or not, seems like one way or the other we're all just going to have to deal with whatever comes and then move on. That which doesn't kill us just means we live to be killed another day or whatever."

The last line got Chris curious about how Regan might've been handling things, something which he'd yet to really ask her about, and it also gave him the sense that she might've given up in a way even if they knew that Dallas was still out there and there was some safety to be had. Slowly, he turned to face her with a serious expression on his face, and when he had, he asked pointedly, "Is that really how you look at it?"

"Not specifically," she shrugged and shook her head. "I know there's hope and a chance to make everything better. I just don't want to butter myself up with happy rainbows and sunshine though, if you know what I mean. Seems like the worst mistake to make now. Sure, surviving this makes you stronger too, but it'd be stupid to think that strength and that hope would allow you to lower your guard."

Now it made more sense. Chris hadn't considered how much hope Regan might've had before then and now that she'd explained it, he could understand better where she was coming from. He wised she had a little more faith than that, but he couldn't preach to the choir because his own faith had been shaken as well, regardless of how hard he was going to fight to keep what they still had alive.

But it made him think of a lot of things, and told him that Regan was a realist in the very least, a point of view he rarely had trouble relating to unless there was a difference of opinions in what was actually realistic being discussed. So he couldn't help but ask her, "What do you think will happen in Dallas?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "We know it's quarantined, so I have a chance for Shannon to go to school and live a somewhat normal life at least. But for me, I don't see myself sitting in Dallas content and just living obliviously to what's out here. There's always going to be the worry of _what if_ on my mind. What if Dallas eventually falls too? What if any other cities that are safe do? Then what? My child hasn't lived her life," she sighed, her voice taking on a sad tone. "I don't care about my own future all that much, I just care about hers. She's just eight years old, and I sure as hell don't want to end up moving her to any place that might be safe for a short while _just_ to try to survive."

Chris let out his breath in a quick exhale, looking ahead again as he admitted, "I'd hoped you hadn't considered that."

"I know," Regan spoke evenly, nodding her head even though he wasn't looking at her. "But more importantly, I hope _Shannon_ doesn't. I want her to feel safe in Dallas, not worry about what if it falls, or what if _anything_."

"Me too. She doesn't deserve that."

He didn't have to say anymore than that to make Regan believe him, and she watched him quietly for a moment once he did. The words were annoying to her because of the way they made her feel, and that was something that was becoming more of a problem overtime that she'd slowly began to realize she needed to do something about. So with a groan of breath, she asked the next question that popped into her head in order to get her mind off of it. Not to mention she was curious anyway.

"What about you? What are you going to do when we get to Dallas? Keep fighting all of this, right?"

"Yeah, or at least try to keep the cities safe. I'm not sure yet. It just depends on the situations when I get there. If George is there though, he'll probably make me rest first before I do anything at all."

After he admitted that, Chris wondered if she might be around while he got everything in order. Staying in Dallas rather than going out into the field on operations might've been more up his alley in this situation, he wasn't sure. But if it was, he could only wonder how much he might see of her and Shannon when they got there. They were both good people, and if anything at all, he wouldn't mind being able to see Shannon if it were permissible. He had to admit, he was curious what kind of poker player she'd make. The thought almost got him to smile.

But something was making him hesitate over the idea, and he wasn't sure why or what it was. He just felt like he needed to be careful in what he promised or said might happen. So he told her simply enough, "I just hope you two get to live a normal life there for good and that I can help keep Dallas the way it is in the very least."

After a moment of drifting off in thought over it, he heard Regan asking him, "What about _your_ life?"

"My life was never normal. Not since I was twenty five at least," he explained simply enough.

She pursed her lips in response, deciding she could see where he was coming from if he'd put up with this kind of thing constantly. But she had another curiosity in mind, and she put it to him. "Well, can I ask about Shannon? Not that I'm trying to stick words in your mouth, but you've grown close to her. Any thoughts about coming to see her in the future? I think she'd like that anyway."

Chris didn't respond, not for several long moments. He'd just been considering that very thing, and he needed a little more time to know what was what because of his uncertainties about how things would wind up. So he decided to simply tell Regan, "I wish I could the way she deserves it. You told me that you fight like hell, and that's what I _have_ to do, which means I can't be what I wish I could be for her. I could try, but it might not work out."

When Regan didn't make a response to that right away, he looked over at her quietly. He couldn't tell completely, but she almost looked like she might've been about to cry. His brows narrowed when he saw the expression, and he couldn't help but wonder what the catalyst was.

She then gave him the answer as if she might've read his mind. "I know, and I wish I didn't..._feel_ the way I do about it."

Giving her an inquisitive look, he asked, "How do you feel?"

She started shaking her head. He thought that meant she was going to avoid the topic, but she suddenly said, "Just seeing the way she trusts you and knowing that she might not easily find anyone else to take to that way. It's rare, and I just wish she had someone like that all of the time that she could look up to."

"She's got you," Chris reminded her.

Regan was quiet, but slowly nodding her head. "Maybe, but honestly, I think she's good for you too, Chris. In fact, you know what? You _are_ an ass," she informed him seriously. "You keep reminding me that I can't give her everything on my own."

Chris watched her quietly, wondering if he could agree with what she'd just said or not. "Like what?," he asked curiously.

Regan pushed some of her hair back over her shoulder while shaking her head, staring down at her lap. There were a few things she could think of to say, but she summed it up into a simple line as an example. "Well, for one thing, protecting her, though that might just be with the way things are now. Still, it's not an easy task anymore."

Letting out a sigh of breath through parted lips, she looked over at him again to tell him what was more important. "Anyway, no matter what you think you can or can't be for her, if you ever want to come see her when we're in Dallas, feel free to, okay?"

After a moment of looking at her quietly, he nodded his head and somewhat vaguely said just the same way, "That'd be nice."

Shannon said she'd wished he was her dad, and that wasn't something Chris could remember hearing from a child before. It was nice, and he had no problems accepting it. The more he'd thought about it, the more comfortable it felt. If he wanted, whenever he had time, he could go visit her, and there really wasn't a problem with the idea of it. But there was still some hesitation he felt to say anymore about it, and he wasn't sure what the root cause of might've been.

He then looked at Regan, who seemed to have drifted off in her own thought for a moment, and something hit him over the reason he was uncertain. He hadn't had much time to consider it before, but he knew that he'd come to respect her, and he was getting curious about her and who she was. He wouldn't have minded getting to know a little more about her, and when the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was exactly the reason why he felt so hesitant.

Not that developing an interest in someone was a bad thing, but it would be tricky here. Regan was a good person, she tried hard to do things right, and she cared about those around her. So despite some differences in opinion, it wasn't hard to relate to her or work with her, and maybe all the time stuck on the road with her had just gotten his curiosity to flare up.

Hell, if they'd met under normal circumstances, he might've already made a pass at her. Chris considered that sometimes he was impulsive in that manner when it came to the fairer sex. The thought reminded him of how he had no trouble dropping a pickup line to a woman he might've been looking at in casual settings without any forewarning. Those kinds of things were fine with him, and suited his lifestyle of always moving about like he had to. He didn't always have the option of trying for something with a steady girlfriend, and throwing out a flirty comment out here or there wasn't hard for him to do if it meant he might actually meet someone he could connect with.

So he wasn't hesitating now because he might've been afraid of how she might react if he were to suddenly make a pass, but instead, because of the situation. Also, when it came to Regan, she was a little different than other women he'd known in the manner of _what_ she was—a mother. That's why it was more tricky here. Chris hadn't ever dated a woman who had a child before, and Regan's in particular was one that he'd become fond of, so that changed things up a bit. If anything, he didn't want something to start up that could jeopardize Shannon when he already cared about the girl.

Children deserved to come first in his opinion, and he'd noticed Regan putting Shannon's needs above her own as well, so she definitely felt the same way from the looks of it. That made things seem a little more risky when the end result could be a painful one. It seemed less complicated to try to stay uninterested, but hell, if people could control who they became interested in, there wouldn't be so much damned heartache when it came to relationships. Sometimes, Chris related the entire world of romance to trying to walk in a pair of high heels—eventually, he was going to trip and bust his ass whether the shoes fit or not.

So that didn't seem to matter much in the grander scheme of things. Not to mention, he couldn't lie about wanting to see Shannon just because he thought he might develop some kind of interest in her. Claire said he was immature from time to time, but Chris wasn't _that_ damned bad about it. So finally, he admitted, "Yeah, you're right, I _do_ care about Shannon. I told her earlier that if I had a little girl of my own, I wouldn't mind her being like she is. So if it doesn't bother you, I wouldn't mind being able to visit her when we get there if I get the time to."

Regan smirked, shaking her head at him, "That doesn't bother me at all, Chris. I mean, who the hell are we going to know in Dallas besides you and maybe your sister and whoever else you might end up introducing us to? We'll have to get out and meet new people besides that."

"Good point," he replied, remembering once again that most people were dead or undead now and nothing was guaranteed. He looked back over at Regan and considered that she only had Shannon to begin with, had mentioned something about not knowing whether or not Shannon's foster brother was alive or dead, but aside from that, she was alone in the world with her daughter as far as they knew.

With the thought it in mind, Chris turned to face Regan completely instead of just looking back at her because now he was curious to see how she might react to a certain question. She looked back up at him from her own thoughts when he did that, and he asked her, "What if I wanted to come by and see _you_?"

Suddenly, Regan perked a brow up at him as if either surprised by the question, or just uncertain over it, and the curiosity she felt over the way he'd asked it was evident on her face. "You almost sound like you mean for a specific reason."

Chris thought about how he'd asked the question, then snorted as if a little amused at himself. He hadn't meant to sound specific, but it had come off that way. "Maybe I did. Then again, maybe I just want to make sure you're alright when you get there."

Regan looked as if she might've been fighting an amused smile, her right brow still raised over one eye in a thoughtful manner, and she shrugged a shoulder. "Well, I don't mind someone checking in on me. But for anything else, then," she paused for thought, "I guess if you're looking for something normal to do in your life, sure, swing on by. But I can't promise you'll find _normal_ exactly. Actually, scratch that, you might do better not to if that's the reason," she chuckled.

The way she'd responded made him slowly smile finally. What the hell _was_ normal anyway? But now he knew her reaction. She didn't seem offended by the idea, and he didn't feel quite as badly for considering it anymore. Maybe it wasn't the best time to think about it all, but then again, it might've been the best time of any, who the hell knew anymore? Besides, what did he have to lose by bringing it up? Not a lot.

"Well, normal or not," Chris told her, "I wouldn't mind it if there's an open invitation. That's another reason I hate that I almost pulled a gun on you. It doesn't doesn't work in my favor."

Slowly, Regan began to grin at him over the amusing line, telling him, "Yeah, pulling a gun on someone is a hell of a way to say you care."

Chris chuckled softly, his expression much more casual as he spoke, "What can I say, I try. But it's not that I..." He then trailed and stopped himself, then let a little groan out. He wasn't trying to flirt with her now, he was trying to say something meaningful. Flirting was easy, but expressing himself? As far as he was concerned, he figured a fist to the face showed when he was angry, a gunshot showed when he was serious, and if he was happy, well, it would just show by itself. But showing something a little more sincere than that?

With those thoughts, he shook his head and settled on being direct, which was never a problem for him. "It's not that I'm pushing for something to happen. I guess it's just all the shit going on right now. I know I would've made it to Dallas eventually, but I don't know what kind of person I would've been when I got there. I was loosing hope by the day, and it was driving me batshit."

He let out a sigh then, and finished with the comment, "You've both helped me to remember what's important until I found out for sure my family is still alive and there's something left to fight for. I'm grateful, that's all."

Regan couldn't help smiling, but she also had the urge to look away from him out of a sudden spike of shyness that streaked through her after he said that. Because of it, she let out a quick sigh and replied, "Well this got a little more sentimental than I thought it would."

She wasn't looking at him, so she only heard a short breath of air that sounded as if he were amused. "I didn't make you feel awkward, did I?"

"No," she reassured him, giving him a meaningful smile as she added, "not at all. I'm touched by the thought." She wanted to say more than that to him, but she wasn't quite sure how to put it. She didn't attempt to for the moment either when Chris spoke again.

"Well, I probably shouldn't have said anything to begin with. I don't want to do that just for something to actually happen that might end badly and hurt Shannon."

Suddenly, Chris looked over and saw her glaring at him, though not in a heated manner, but an annoyed one. She looked irritated, and he had no idea why.

"Alright, you know what? You need to stop talking like that."

"Like what?," he asked in response, genuinely confused.

Grumbling, Regan explained, "I'm trying not to like you at all right now. I mean, like you like that, as immature as that sounds, and talking like that isn't helping, and now I'm nagging. Shit," she suddenly stopped herself, reaching up to rub her eyes. As she did, she apologized. "Sorry, Chris. It's just...Shannon, and the way you think of her. I don't think you _really_ know how much that gets to me."

Suddenly it made sense. Regan had a soft spot for someone who put her daughter first, because she knew the importance of that. So when Chris said what he did about not wanting something to happen that could end up hurting the eight year old, it had probably made her feel more than just friendly toward him. He watched her quietly, unable to help the slow, prideful smirk that spread across his lips as she pulled her hand away from her face to see it, and when she did, she let out a groan that nearly made him laugh.

"What?," Chris asked her over the sound. "You act like it's a bad thing if you do."

"Isn't it?," she asked in turn. "I mean, in Dallas something might change, who knows, but this isn't a good setting for thinking about that kind of thing. In fact, this could all just be us trying to survive to begin with, you know? We haven't had many normal moments since we've been traveling, at least, not completely, so what do we _really_ know about each other?"

Chris shrugged at her, replying, "You learn a lot about a person when you're trying to survive with them."

"Like what?," she asked, sounding genuinely curious over the matter.

"Well, I know you're not selfish and you're devoted. You've run out into danger more than once to help me out. We've also worked well together to try to keep things going. If you stop to think about it, you probably know more about me than you think as well."

Regan wanted to believe him, but she couldn't quite make herself, and she didn't want to try to figure out what she did know about him and potentially prove him right. Besides, she felt she needed to go check on Shannon anyway. But she didn't quite have the chance to when she heard Shannon coughing again and looked over to see the little girl rounding the corner into the kitchen area. Chris narrowed his brows when he saw her too because she didn't look as if she were fairing too well, something that was confirmed when Shannon whimpered.

"Mama, I don't feel good at _all_."

She covered her mouth and started coughing again after rasping out the line, and Regan stood up without question, walking over to her. First she turned the light on over the stove, then she leaned down and lifted a hand to Shannon's head, pushing some of her hair back in the process before feeling the warmth of it.

"Oh god, you're burning up," Regan said as she felt the heat against the backside of her hand.

"My throat hurts," she told her mother on a raspy voice, "and I feel all...woozy and achy. I woke up because I just hurt all over."

Regan gave a nod of her head and didn't ask, just lifted Shannon from the floor and said, "Come on. We've got some ibuprofen from the school that'll knock the fever down, and I want to look at your throat, okay?"

Chris watched them going, his expression a concerned one, and he wondered what Shannon might've had that was making her sick. He also wondered if she'd gotten it from the school, which seemed like a probable cause considering they were the only other people Shannon had been around, and no one traveling with them currently had anything to pass on. Aside from that, he didn't know much about children when it came to them being sick, but he did know that a fever was never a good thing. Standing up from where he was seated, he stepped toward the kitchen, but didn't go any further. He could see the light coming from the bathroom, and waited for Regan to come back with some kind of verdict over the matter.

Hell, she didn't even have a way to take the child's temperature, he thought after a moment. At least they had the ibuprofen though, that would be a big help. But Chris didn't feel as if this situation was going to be a great one to ride out no matter what was going on precisely.

A short while later, Regan emerged from the bedroom with an empty bottle in hand after she'd put Shannon to bed again and said to Chris, "It looks like Shannon might have strep. There's some spots on her throat, so it's hard to tell. She's also sniffling a bit and a little congested, so she might have a cold on top of it. For now I think it's best if I keep her in the back and tend to her myself to reduce exposure because it could spread. I'll have her use a set of sheets in specific, and make sure to keep everything clean."

"Has she had strep throat before?," Chris asked, watching Regan going to the refrigerator and grabbing the jug of orange juice that they had stored in it.

"Once," Regan nodded. "It hit her pretty bad, but hopefully that means she has some resistance to it now. She had her shots updated about three months before the outbreaks occurred, so maybe that'll count for something too. What I _don't_ like is the _fever,_" she enunciated. "Hopefully the ibuprofen will make a dent in it though. I just wish I could get her some antibiotics to make sure to knock out any infection she might have."

Shannon's coughing could be heard in the back, and the sound made Regan add the words, "And a cough suppressant." She let out a soft sigh. "Her throat's going raw, and what happens if we get stuck in a tight spot? She could start coughing and draw attention if we needed to hide."

"True," Chris agreed, thinking it over before he let out a sigh of breath. "How bad do you think she'll get? If she's running a risk of anything, I need to know so I can make up my mind."

Regan was just finishing pouring the orange juice into the bottle she had, and she considered what he'd asked before he said that last line, which made her narrow a brow. Looking back at Chris over her shoulder curiously, she asked him in response, "Make up your mind about what?"

"What needs to be done about this," he informed her plainly. "Having a sick child out here could put us all at risk."

"Right," Regan sighed, realizing the impact of this whole mess now as she looked back down at the bottle on the counter. She thought of all the possibilities and then turned to face Chris and said, "Alright, well, when she had strep in specific, the doctor prescribed antibiotics, Amoxicillin because she's not allergic to penicillin. The dose was fifty milligrams I think. Anyway, I also remember reading that most cases cleared themselves up in a week without treatment."

"Is she allergic to anything else?"

"No," Regan shook her head, "nothing that we know of."

Chris took that in while thinking this over and considered his options. "Well a week is a long damned time to wait for this to clear up, if it does at all, and especially if she could spread it on to you and also get worse. There's a chance that search and rescue teams could find us before then, but I wouldn't bank on it, and if that tyrant catches up with Wesker, she could be in a world of pain."

Regan cringed because she knew it was the truth, and it was bleak. Chris looked back over to see the worry on her face and he added, "I could always look for some kind of medical facility to raid on the GPS, a pharmacy or something. We need to stop for gas soon, so I don't want to pass any chances up."

Regan looked back over at him and she shook her head. "Chris, those locations are probably in towns and cities that are overrun. We've had to backtrack so much today because it seems like most of these places out this way are completely infested."

"I know," Chris replied, vividly remembering the day before with all the zombies they'd come across. He wasn't optimistic, not one bit, but he didn't get a chance to say anything more just then. Shannon started coughing so hard at that moment that it sounded like she almost gagged. Regan turned and grabbed the orange juice to take it to her without further question.

Shannon had pushed herself up in bed, and Regan sat down next to her, patting her back while she got her coughing fit over with. Once she was settled, Regan told her to sit there and then got up and went into the bathroom to grab a wash clothe and wet it. She came back in and walked over to swipe the clothe over the girl's face and her forehead, and then propped some pillows up so she could lay back at an angle.

Chris stepped into the doorway and watched Regan tending to the child, and while she was putting the clothe across Shannon's head, he asked, "How are you doing, Shannon?"

"Tired," she replied softly, "but I keep coughing, can't sleep."

Chris gave her a silent nod of his head while he watched her trying to figure out a way to get comfortable, feeling bad for her about it. He was attempting to consider this all with a logical mind, but it wasn't easy to do when he didn't like seeing her feeling so this way. If they just pushed on, Shannon could get better, but she could also get worse. It was a risk on either end, so nipping this thing in the bud seemed like the best idea overall.

If something popped up on them, and they had to run, then what? If Shannon couldn't run on her own, and she'd take an extra set of hands that might be able to use a gun otherwise, and could make a difference between life and death. So finding some kind of pharmacy or other place where they might have drugs stored seemed like the best idea.

But then Chris had Wesker to think about. Chris knew he couldn't count on Wesker to offer a hand in getting any medication for the kid no matter what she was going through, and he also wasn't even thinking about asking him. Even more so, Chris knew Wesker would be against this from the start—not that Chris was going to allow Wesker to stop him from going himself or doing anything else he personally deemed needed to be done for their survival's sakes.

They could always wait to see if they got picked up by search and rescue as well, but that wasn't completely probable, so it really did seem like the best idea was to try to get some medicine for Shannon as soon as possible to prevent her from getting worse and also prevent any complications from arising.

Shannon took a few light swallows of the former bottle of water Regan had refilled with orange juice, now holding it to her daughter's lips. She didn't take much of it though before she pushed it back and whispered, "It hurts to swallow."

Regan frowned in response as she lifted the bottle away and set it on the table next to the bed before she replied, "I know, but I want you to try to sip it every once in a while, okay? We don't need you getting dehydrated on top of being sick."

"I'm kind of scared, mama."

Regan tried to offer her a warm, sympathetic smile, reminding her, "You've been sick before and you always got better, you know."

"Yeah, but that was different. There were doctors and stuff then."

Her mother let out a soft sigh, trying to think of what to say while brushing her fingers through Shannon's hair. Shannon got extremely quiet in those moments, and then asked with her voice breaking on a little sob, "What if more monsters come?"

Regan knew she had to be strong where her little girl couldn't be, and Shannon was sick, and she was scared. Regan knew with the way the child felt that the thought of monsters coming while she was like this was the worst feeling of despair in the world, and Regan leaned over and said, "Shannon, look at me."

Regan didn't say anything until Shannon turned her eyes up to look at her like she'd asked. She took Shannon's hand in a firm squeeze then and told her promisingly, "I will _not_ let anything happen to you. Do you understand me? I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Shannon tried to nod, but she turned her head and started coughing. Regan sat back so she could reach to pat her daughter's back to help, adding the words, "You'll be fine right here." She felt like those might have been empty promises she didn't have any control over, but damn it all, she was going to make her daughter believe them one way or the other.

"Regan?"

When she heard her name, Regan looked over at Chris and saw him motioning with his head toward the kitchen without saying anything, and she silently nodded at him as he turned to walk that way. Looking back at Shannon, she told her, "You want me to leave the night lamp on? I need to go talk to Chris for a second."

"Yes, thank you."

When she'd given that response, Regan combed her hair back with her fingers, then stood up and walked around the bed. Once she got to the door, she heard Shannon saying, "I love you, mama."

Regan looked back and smiled at her warmly. "I love you too, Squirt." Smirking when the nickname made Shannon smile just a little, she turned and headed into the kitchen where Chris had gone.

Chris looked over at her and waited until she'd stopped not far away before he said anything to her at all. "I want you to make out a list."

"A list?"

"Of anything Shannon might need."

He watched Regan slowly narrowing her brows and then shaking her head slowly. Before she could get anything out though, he stopped her by saying, "Just make a list, Regan. Even if I don't use it, I'll have it just incase."

Regan let out a low groan, conceding with the words, "Fine, I'll do it, but do you really think the chances of getting somewhere would be good?"

"I know what my chances are," he told her, sounding much more like a veteran of this kind of risky business than he did in more casual conversations. "I also know that sometimes things pop up to take advantage of. It doesn't happen often, but it _can_ happen, and if I don't look, I'll miss it. So make the list out and I'll keep it with me."

"I don't even think we have anything to write on or with," Regan said as she turned to look around. "Maybe Shannon still has some crayons and paper in my suitcase." She turned and walked back into the bedroom where the item had been stored, opening it up once she'd found it.

Chris waited for her, and after a good bit of rummaging, Regan found a small day planner she used to keep filled with appointments and dates for Shannon's school and doctor's appointments. She took it into the kitchen and settled it on the counter, opening it to find a pen still latched to the inside of it. Tugging it out, she tried to scribble on one of the pages. After a few strokes, the ink began to flow, and she started writing everything down.

"How the hell do you spell Amoxicillin?," she muttered out to herself.

"Hell if I know. I never was the best speller."

"Eh, that looks right enough," she mused after she'd jotted it down phonetically, and then wrote out a few other things along with it, making the list as thorough as she could possibly get it with everything she could think of just to be on the safe side.

When she was done, she turned around and handed the paper to Chris, who took it to look over. Regan had a fancy handwriting that reminded him of his aunt's and his sister's, legible and neat whether misspelled or not. He read it over to keep in mind and then put it into his pocket, saying, "We'll see what happens."

"Honestly Chris," Regan started, "I don't like the idea of you going after something with the way things are. I mean, you know I'd do anything I could to get her something to make her better, but not getting you or someone else killed for it."

Even as Regan said the words, she knew she sounded more worried than she did confident over the matter, but she couldn't help that. This was her daughter, and she was mixed up when it came to her feelings and what to do or not do about the situation.

That was when Shannon started coughing again, followed by letting out a pained groan, and Chris looked from the bedroom entryway where his attention had been drawn by the sound and back at Regan, telling her, "She could also get worse, and I can't stand by while she lays in there scared and suffering and just do nothing about it. Don't worry about me if a chance comes up. Just focus on her."

He pushed himself away from the counter where he'd leaned and then walked toward the bedroom in time to hear Shannon letting out another few coughs that were softer compared to the ones before. When they were over, he stepped around the side of the bed and leaned a hand against the headboard built into the wall, putting the other on her shoulder.

"Shannon?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want you to be afraid, okay? I'm going to do whatever I can to get you what you need."

Shannon looked up at him slowly and asked him softly, "How?"

"You let me worry about that," Chris replied on a confident, yet serious tone of voice. "You'll just have to trust me."

Shannon watched him for only a brief moment before she slowly started nodding. On her raspy voice, she replied, "I trust you," almost so quietly that he couldn't hear her.

Patting her arm to reassure her, Chris then straightened the blanket over her shoulder as she laid back against the pillow again so she'd be a little more comfortable. Once she was settled, he turned and headed out of the room, passing Regan who let a low sigh of breath and wondered to herself how this might all end up going. It was obvious to her that he was serious about getting this thing taken care of if he could, and she wasn't sure whether or not that was a blessing or might've been a curse.

One thing that she _was_ grateful for was the hope his words had probably given Shannon just then, which would help to make her feel a little less scared. Still, Regan had a good bit of worry of her own to deal with that she couldn't ignore.

Why things had to always get so complicated though would probably never be explained.


	32. Risk

_Chapter 31 - Risk_

_ December, 5__th__, 2007_

_ Outside of Amarillo, Texas_

_ 7:02 AM_

When the sun came up, Chris radioed up to the hummer and got Wesker to stop at the next decently safe spot he could find so he could talk to Cecilia and also check the GPS. The hummer began to slow down in the middle of a highway that had two separate strips of road, one for traveling in each direction when the world had been normal before the outbreaks. In the slight distance off of the roadways were buildings of varying types and sizes, but none of them were too big and they were pretty spaced out, giving a good bit of vision surrounding their location to prepare in case anything tried to creep up on them.

Mostly, they were surrounded by former businesses however, not residential locations. There were also cars here and there on the highway, but spread out without creating any blocks. Most of them were wet from the rains the previous day and some of the night, and though it was currently cloudy, there wasn't any rain falling. They all hoped that meant that things were going to clear up because the rain was an unneeded burden on them just then.

It was also cold that morning, in the lower fifties from what it felt like, but there was a wind up that made it seem a little colder than that. So when the hummer finally halted, Chris left the RV with his coat on, as well as his weapons in place, and went over to the passenger's side door as Cecilia opened it.

Wearing a dark blue sweater over her white button down in order to keep warm which she had packed in the duffel carrying her belongings, she climbed out of the car as Chris arrived at the side of it and asked him, "What's wrong?"

"Hand me the GPS," Chris requested before he said anymore, and Cecilia turned around and reached inside to snatch the device from the dashboard before she handed it to him. Chris took the device and began to type in what he was looking for to try to see if he could find any places nearby to raid for medicine along with gas at the same time if they were lucky.

"Shannon's gotten sick," he told Cecilia in answer to her question as he worked on searching for a location.

Cecilia narrowed her brows at him over the news, asking in response, "What's she's got? Do you know?"

The driver's side door opened up on the other side of the hummer, and Wesker stood from the vehicle and turned around to face the two across from him, wearing the plain black button down beneath his trench coat as he listened to what was going on. Chris ignored him however as he told Cecilia, "Regan said it looks like strep, nothing serious under normal conditions where she could get medicine for it, but in this situation, it could be bad. She's weak with a fever and can't stop coughing, and says she's aching."

Though he was ignoring Wesker, Chris was expecting some kind of smarmy comment from him over the matter. So far however, he was being quiet, which allowed Cecilia to ask him on a curious tone of voice, "Okay, then what do you need me for?"

"I'm not going to ask you," Chris told her plainly, lowering the GPS for the moment before he looked at her and finished, "because it's a risk. But if we don't get her some medicine, it could compromise all of us out here."

Chris looked up when he heard Wesker stating knowingly, "So you want to find some kind of pharmacy or medical facility and raid it for something to knock the infection out."

"Yeah, that was the general idea," Chris returned as if he didn't give a damn whether Wesker liked it or not—which he didn't.

"Like always, you put yourself at risk for something worth little reward. It still shocks me that you've managed to live this long," Wesker stated as if it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Well, maybe we'll both shock you," Cecilia started, looking over at him as she continued to say, "because I agree with him. If this isn't treated it could become something worse. Not to mention, a sick child _would_ compromise us."

"Apparently she already is," Wesker muttered back, then looked over at Chris when he asked in addition, "You do realize that, according to what you told us, search and rescue could find us at any moment, don't you? Then the girl would have all the care she needed."

"I realize that, but how likely do you think that really is, Wesker?"

"How likely will the tryant chasing me down find us when we're not mobile, Chris?" Wesker countered. "Yet you're still willing to risk that by running off and playing the so called hero."

"Well I doubt Regan will be able to run out here to offer you much of a hand with the thing if it caught up to you, so it'll probably just go for you alone," Chris replied as if something like that would've just made his day.

"Saying it's mission objectives haven't been altered to include all of us," Wesker replied flatly, his tone pointed.

"Well, the longer we fight about it, the closer the thing gets," Cecilia piped up to interrupt the verbal shots they continually took at one another before she looked over at Wesker, a sudden wind picking up and blowing her currently unbound hair forward so she had to sweep it back. Getting it under control, she asked him, "Isn't there some kind of benefit to raiding a pharmacy that would make this worthwhile? It might provide us with something to use in case we get hurt. Besides, we _do_ need more gas."

"That's true, but the risk of going for medicine as well is hardly worth the reward like I'd said," Wesker replied. "It's the same reason we haven't attempted to go to an airport to see what kinds of crafts might be useable."

"We can decide that once we see what's around to raid," Chris interjected while looking at the GPS again. "We've passed Canyon now, haven't we?"

"Yes," Wesker replied. "Not too long ago. Amarillo isn't too far from here. I'd spotted a gas station on the map I was planning to take a look at before we stopped."

After a moment, Chris asked, "Was it on route 335?"

"There are several along that route, yes. I'd decided to try one of those."

"Well good, because there's a medical center on that route not half an hour away from here." He then looked into a little more information and added, "And it's not too far from a gas station like you said."

"Two zombies, one bullet?," Wesker asked on a droll tone of voice that said he wasn't entirely impressed with the information.

Chris ignored the comment and handed Cecilia the GPS so she could take a look to see what he meant. After a moment of trying to flip her strawberry blonde hair to one side in the wind so she could see it better, she nodded her head. "That would be better to go to than an inner city pharmacy. In and out snatch and grab with gas to boot hopefully. But things _are_ a bit dense around here, we've seen a lot of corpses, so what do we do about the hummer?"

"We'll have to park her somewhere and get out to walk the rest of the way."

Cecilia was still looking at the GPS for herself as Chris made his suggestion, and she mentioned, "There's not much out here along the lines of easy hiding places, but this road is pretty straight forward, so that would work as far as getting in and out without too much problem."

"Then I suppose the issue is settled," Wesker spoke up on a voice that said he didn't think it was himself, but wouldn't argue further.

Instead, he turned and climbed back into the hummer, and Chris watched him with not-so-pleasant thoughts in mind while Cecilia kept the GPS and got back into the passenger's seat. Chris walked over to the backdoor of the hummer and climbed inside, then requested the radio from Cecilia, who took the device and handed it to him. Once he had it, he pressed the button and got Regan on the other end, telling her he was riding up front for the moment and that they'd found a medical facility to raid, that they'd reach it soon.

Regan gave a simple response that she understood, and Chris shut the door of the hummer once he was inside while Wesker started the vehicle and began to drive again. Chris stayed quiet, looking out of the window as the vehicle picked up speed under the cloudy, early morning sky, noticing someone standing in the distance along the road—easily a zombie. He let out a silent sigh of breath, hoping the place they were heading to didn't have an overabundance of the creatures like they'd seen so far, and got distracted a bit when he heard some beeps coming from the front seat where Cecilia was apparently checking out the GPS after she'd tied her hair into a makeshift bun at the back of her head.

"Hey, listen to this," she started after a moment. "335 will take us back to I-40."

"That's not promising considering how congested it was before we left New Mexico," Wesker replied on a voice that sounded anything but enthusiastic.

"Yeah, I know that, _but_," she enunciated and informed him, "there's an airport right there on the way. If _it's_ not overrun, it might be worth taking a look."

"Perhaps, saying we can even get to the medical facility or the gas station to begin with. We are already in a tight spot between two cities that aren't small ones, and this area seems highly active with the undead, so I would not be optimistic about those chances."

Chris didn't say a single word. He wasn't going to argue about it, and he wasn't going to get his hopes up either. Had it been an adult they were going to do this for, he would've been less inclined to risk it, but a child was different. Yes, he knew search and rescue would be out looking for them, but he didn't count on them finding their vehicles in a timely fashion, and even expected to see trouble arising whenever they _were_ found. Chris considered himself a realist who'd long since let go of any kind of youthful idealism of everything going right and saving as many as you could, so even in this situation, he was expecting to see trouble and probably some pain for his efforts of helping Shannon.

He was simply willing to go through it for her.

But it was a no win situation from the start and the chances were pretty even either way. He let Shannon go, she'd get worse, and something would happen where someone would get hurt. He went to get her medicine, he'd run into something bad, and someone would probably get hurt. Like he'd considered when he first found out she was sick, it seemed like a better idea to nip this thing in the bud before giving it a chance to get worse, and then keep going from there.

Besides, they _did_ need gas. So finding a medical office not far from a station was almost like killing two zombies with one bullet as Wesker had put it so eloquently before. But that was the last thing Chris expected his luck to grant him. Everything else would probably be hellacious to have to deal with.

Wesker followed the route to 335 and made the turn at the ramp. All three of them knew it wasn't a good area to travel through because of the way things were built up around them, but it was on the outskirts of Amarillo, so who knew just how many monsters they might run into. One side of the road was fairly barren after all, but the other side had parking lots and businesses here and there, and even a residential area not too far away. Things were quiet though, and no one was around. At least, not at that particular moment.

As they continued on through the area, the buildings eventually began to disperse, leaving plains on the left and right side of the road. It honestly didn't look like a place where anything would have been built up at all, just a few trees located here and there for a ways, and then a distant house with a large yard surrounding it would pop up. But finally, they came to a more urbanized area, and that's when they saw it.

The medical center Chris had found on the map honestly wasn't hard to spot, standing taller than the other buildings about. It was also a good distance back from the route they traveled on with it's own access road leading to a parking lot. It wasn't a huge facility by many standards, but it had at least three floors from the looks of it, and cars were still parked outside of it here and there. Overall, it looked as if it might've been new to the area just because everything else about seemed to be a little older and smaller in structure by comparison.

Just down the road a ways from the facility was a gas station that looked so small that it was somewhat hard to tell whether it had even been an open business in the real world or not. The doors and windows had been boarded up though, making it even more ominous to look at, but if someone had done that, then chances were that the station was in use before the outbreaks had started, or perhaps had been used as a shelter since in any case. But it had four pumps in total, and neither had a sign that said they were out of gas from what was seen in driving by it.

Wesker past both buildings and came to a stop not too far down the road from the gas station in an area that had a line of bushes to the right side of the road and the other had only one building in the distance that looked like a large storage shed with a few road construction vehicles parked around it. But the area was fairly open, making it easy for them to see threats incoming, while still giving them a hiding place here or there, and seemed like a strategically favorable location to stand idle for a while if they were going to undertake the tasks before them now.

He pulled partly over the gravel covering the side of the route as he slowed down, and once they were parked, said, "I'll take Cecilia and check out the station. You should prepare for the walk to the medical facility in the meantime."

Chris heard what he said, but he made no verbal response, climbing out of the car and heading to the RV without so much as a second glance. Cecilia and Wesker had also climbed out of the hummer, where she grabbed two canisters from the back seat that were empty, and she handed one to Wesker before taking up a third that only had a little left in it. Cecilia unscrewed the cap off of that one and put the rest of it into the tank so that it would also be empty. The tasks were done wordlessly, and after the hummer had gotten what was left of their last canister, the two began to head toward the station down the road while keeping their eyes open on the way.

Wesker kept his gun handy on the way there where Cecilia had taken two of the canisters which currently left her hands too full to have her own piece out. They mostly walked in silence, hearing little to nothing but the wind breezing past them along the way, and Cecilia took to looking back behind them every now and again just to make sure something wasn't going to jump up behind her without warning since she was the one at a slight disadvantage there.

Halfway into the small parking lot of the gas station, they came to a stop, hearing a low groan somewhere in the close distance, but neither of them were able to pinpoint a location of any undead creature it might've been coming from. Nothing was moving, and no one was around, so when they heard the moan a second time, they were both confounded as to the potential corpse's whereabouts.

Cecilia was the first one to speak over it, asking, "Do you see anything?"

"No," Wesker replied as if somewhat curious over the sound as well. They heard the groan once again as they started to walk toward the pumps, which was getting louder the closer they got, but it also sounded as if it were coming from the same place however.

That was when Wesker suggested, "Perhaps this zombie is immobile."

With a slow nod, Cecilia stepped toward the pumps quietly, making sure to keep her eyes lowered toward the pavement to scan for anything about that might've tried to grab her foot or been lying low enough to prevent her from seeing it on an even field of vision with her height. Rain was starting to pick up a little, but it was a very light drizzle, the kind of rain most people referred to as being messy weather, and Cecilia hoped that was all it might do that morning. She'd had enough as far as rain went for the past day or two now.

She glanced at the pumps when she saw nothing laying about the lot though, and noticed that two of the four pumps the station sported had old yellow bags on them saying that they were out of service. So she disregarded those and took one of the working pumps into hand after settling the canisters she'd carried down. Lifting the nozzle and flipping the switch it sat on, she pushed the pump into the first canister and squeezed the handle. It began to run while she watched it, glad it had at least a little something to offer, but found herself just a bit disturbed by the sound of a zombie moaning in the vicinity that they still hadn't been able to locate.

"Okay, we need to find this thing, it's starting to get on my nerves."

Wesker remained silent in response, scanning the area when he finally noticed something slightly moving in front of the doorway to the small station. There were a few trash cans laying on their sides before it, and he saw a withered hand that was sticking out from beneath them. The fingers of that hand had slightly moved, flexing in and out slowly.

"I think I just did," he replied, heading over to the metal cans without pause and kicking one away with his booted foot.

Beneath the trash can that rolled away with a few metal pings was half of a body somehow sawed off at the mid torso, and it's blackened, decaying entrails were laying along the step behind it that lead up into the doorway of the boarded up station. There wasn't any lower half of a body in sight that could've belonged to it however, which made it curious to wonder what might've happened to this person in particular. But regardless of that physical condition, the corpse, thin and rotting away to the point that it was impossible to tell what the gender of the person had been when they were alive, pushed itself up onto its arms and began to try to crawl toward Wesker when it saw him, letting an eery moan out in his direction.

Cecilia watched from where she was crouched by the pump, then glanced behind herself and around again to make sure nothing else was wandering up, when she heard a sickening crunch of sound. Glancing ahead, she realized that Wesker had crushed the zombie's skull beneath his boot, and she grimaced and looked back at the gasoline canister, wanting to get her mind off of dead bodies that still worked even though they'd somehow been sawed in half.

That got her mind to the virus causing this however, and the fact that she _was_ actually grateful to know she was naturally immune to contracting it. True, she wouldn't have let Wesker test his theory if he'd just asked, but, to herself, she admitted that a part of her was glad he had. She'd never say such a thing aloud though because mostly, it just pissed her off.

Still, the notion made her think of something else that she was curious about. Now seemed like the best time of any to ask.

Wesker stepped away from the twice dead corpse once he'd put it out of commission and headed back toward Cecilia and the pumps to see that she was removing the gas nozzle from the canister. As he drew nearer to her, he heard her ask a question with a dry sense of sarcasm attached to it.

"Tell me something. How does someone get into work trying to develop viruses that do this kind of thing to people? It wasn't on some kind of motivational poster when you were a kid in school, I take it."

With a smirk, Wesker kept watch while she went to the second of the two pumps and informed her in the meantime, "No, not in specific. To understand the story, you have to first know about Umbrella and the way they worked." He considered it for himself briefly, then went on to say, "Did I think I would help develop a virus as a biological weapon when I was recruited? No. I was merely there due to a promising academic record. They introduced me to the rest."

Cecilia glanced over at him as her some of her hair breezed up a bit on the wind, her expression one of scrutiny, and she then shook her head while pushing the second pump into the canister before asking, "And you just stuck around?"

"As I'd said, some understanding of Umbrella is required to know the story. Umbrella never simply allowed their employees to leave. There was a certain sense of," he trailed for the word, then settled fairly ominously on, "_community_ working there. Once you were in, you weren't just going to quit without a price."

"Sounds lovely," Cecilia muttered back, turning the other nozzle on so that it would pump fuel into the same canister, hoping this one would at least fill it the rest of the way up since the first pump seemed to be empty on fuel now completely.

While she worked, Wesker asked her, "So you really intend to go to this facility with Chris to get the child medicine considering what is already on our plates."

"Why not, Wesker? I'm not siding with him, if that's what you mean. She's a little girl for starters, and he's right about her compromising us by being sick in any case. If we _did_ have to run from something, she wouldn't be able to. Her mother would _have_ to carry her, and that would take a set of hands that could use a weapon."

Wesker didn't make any response except to say, "Then it seems that I am the one with the unpopular opinion here."

"No, what you say makes sense too."

He looked back down at her after the unexpected comment and quirked a brow. She'd just gotten the canister filled up, and she stood, reaching for the one he held. "There's still some gas left in this pump," she told him as he handed the one she was reaching for over, taking the one she'd just filled in order to screw the cap back onto it.

"What I say makes sense too?," he asked her in order to get back on topic as she began to fill the second canister up if she could.

"Yes, because you're right about us needing to keep moving. But you said Chris would be useful to you in getting to the ones behind all of this, right?"

"I did say so," Wesker admitted, wondering where she might go with all of this.

"Well, if Shannon ends up getting in danger because she's sick and can't move as quickly as she could otherwise, what do you think he would do? Seems like he'll put himself at risk one way or the other, so take your pick. Now or later, you're damned if you do, damned if you don't."

Wesker scoffed, and it was apparent to Cecilia that he either didn't care for the mindset, or didn't see any logic behind it. "Sounds like it would be easier to simply put the child out of her misery if that is the case."

"Then we'd lose Regan," Cecilia returned, "and I recall her doing a pretty decent job of trying to keep the swarm under control the other night, so she's got to be at least a _little_ useful here. God knows I'm no damned good with a rifle anyway."

"Hmm, with as stealthy as you've proven to be, I find that somewhat hard to believe." Wesker then looked down at the canister as if the notion was of no consequence to him either way, and noticed it was getting full with more to spare. So he handed her the last canister that they'd brought along, and considered the situation in general while he did.

To him, Regan was an expendable asset, though perhaps loosing her would make the difference between reaching Dallas and not reaching Dallas, such as loosing Cecilia might, or Chris even. There was strength in numbers in some situations, and this one qualified because most of the numbers with him had weapons training. Shannon, on the other hand, had no redeeming qualities whatsoever to offer the situation. She was completely expendable in Wesker's opinion. Going to get medicine for her had no reward attached to it whatsoever. Perhaps a slight one in getting medical supplies should someone become injured, but even that didn't seem completely worth the weight of the risk involved.

Still, Wesker _had_ played the part of keeping things in tact before in order to maintain a balance between that which worked well and something which was otherwise broken. He wasn't beyond doing so here either, but he was having more and more thoughts over the matter all of the time. Cecilia was right about Chris—he'd risk himself now, or risk himself later in order to save the child if it came down to it. Chris was predictable in that fashion after all, and always had been.

Though he hated Chris, sadly his skills were still useful in the current situation, and Wesker knew that hatred or not, it would be a waste to let those skills go without taking advantage of them. Wesker was willing to pay the price of allowing Chris to live for now in order to do so. If that meant getting the child medicine so that they could reach their destination more easily without being compromised—though Wesker could think of several reasons why the girl could be called a compromise even when she was well—then they would simply have to go and get her some medicine.

So in essence, the situation would have to be handled quickly. In order to do that, however, Wesker didn't think the setup was all that wonderful.

Cecilia had pulled the nozzle up, saying something about there being more to spare as she went for the third canister with them, but Wesker ignored that and told her, "I want you to stay with the mother and her child. I'll take your place and go with Chris to get what the girl needs."

That comment got Cecilia's attention, though she was watching the rest of the gas flow into the canister from the pump, rendering this particular station worthless to any travelers coming through now. She stood up after screwing the cap back on, and she gave Wesker a look complete with a ton of scrutiny.

"Wait, first, you say that standing around while getting medicine is bad, and now you want to go yourself? With Chris," she added flatly.

"As you said, the child would compromise us being sick," he started, leaning down to grab the two full canisters, and he lifted them without any trouble. Turning to begin heading back to the hummer down the road, Cecilia had to grab the other one that was half full and follow behind him without question as he continued to speak, saying, "If we want to get this done as quickly as possible, then I should be the one to go, not you. Neither of you know medical facilities as well as I do, nor do you understand the layout of drug storage rooms quite as efficiently. So going myself would save us time."

He made a good point, Cecilia considered, but she brought up something else important. "Yeah, but you'll be going alone. With Chris," she added again, and more to the point.

"Concerned for my well being, are you?," he asked in a sarcastic manner.

"More like concerned for the rest of us," she muttered back. "You _would_ be better going, that's true, but I'm still not sure I like the idea."

"I don't like it either, but I will do whatever it takes to keep going with as little fuss as possible. As much as I disagree with the notion, and as tempted as I may be to simply drive on without certain parties in my company," he muttered, "it seems I have little choice in the matter right now. I'd rather not waste the irritations I've already endured on nothing."

"So go find another car and head off on your own," Cecilia suggested.

"The thought had crossed my mind, but it seems too impractical at this stage in the game to be a worthwhile endeavor, especially when search and rescue teams are out looking now."

Cecilia snorted over the notion, unable to help herself. "Like I said before, damned if you do, damned if you don't."

"Apparently."

_7:33 AM_

"So you're really doing this?"

Regan had asked the question while Chris was grabbing a belt that had a few pouches on it that he could use to carry items in, having pulled it from one of the duffel bags he'd originally packed for his trip to Wyoming. He'd used it here and there from time to time after the outbreaks since, and he had a good reason to go rummaging for it now. He'd need a place to store the medicine he could get for Shannon on the way back to the hummer, along with a few other miscellaneous items he had stored in the bag.

"Yeah, I'm really doing this," he replied as if there were nothing to it, getting the belt latched around his waist before he glanced over his shoulder at Regan to see her looking down at the floor of the kitchen in thought. When he was finished with the belt, he began to fit a pair of gloves on that had fingerless thumb and index finger covers. Once he was done with that task, Chris closed the duffel bag now settled on the counter in the kitchen before he turned to face her so he could address the worried look she had.

"Don't worry, Regan, just lay low like I said, keep your eyes open on the outside, and I'll be back with the medicine soon."

Even then, Shannon was letting out a few coughs, and Regan took a deep breath, but she nodded her head in response despite her reservations about this. "I trust you," she assured him before she looked up at his face and added, "But if you and Cecilia don't come back in one piece, I'll kick both your asses myself. Just saying."

That put a small, and brief smile on his lips for a moment, and he reached over and patted her shoulder, replying, "Just do like I told you to, you'll be fine as long as you keep your eyes open."

"Yeah, that's not a problem," she confirmed pretty confidently, thinking that the problem was just the situation to begin with. Letting a deep sigh of breath out through her parted lips, she told him even though she felt as if she might've been preaching to a choir, "Just don't try to rush too fast and make some kind of mistake or something."

"Alright," he gave in response to her request in order to placate her because he knew she was worried. Why wouldn't she be? She couldn't ask him to go and do this, like she'd said the night before. She didn't want him to get killed over it, just like he wouldn't want someone else to get killed for something he himself held dear.

But he wasn't going to act as if it were a big deal around her if only to keep the worry to a minimum, and simply reminded her, "I've got the radio, and I'll let you know when we're coming back. Just remember not to try to contact me unless you absolutely have to."

"I know, I'll just wait for you to contact me with news when you can." Grumbling, she turned her head up and gave him a look that said she was being serious, adding, "And look, I know it sounds misplaced, but," she let out a sigh, "just be careful, alright?"

"I will," he nodded, then suddenly smirked at her, a somewhat arrogant expression that Regan couldn't recall seeing before. He must have thought her worry was cute somehow, and the thought made her want to pull her own hair out. Simultaneously, it made her smile just because the expression itself was charming in a way, which only irritated her even more.

But he turned to go, and she watched him heading to the door with his weapons and a few ammo boxes in hand, and she let a groan after the door was shut. Raising her hand to her head, shoving her fingers through her red hair in agitation, Regan couldn't help but mutter out the words, "What a fucking nightmare," before turned around to go check on Shannon again.

Chris stepped out of the RV with the ammo in hand, heading over to the hood of the hummer so he could set some of it down and get the rest put into the pouches he had on his belt. He'd also snagged two of the grenades from the vest Wesker had acquired in Santa Rosa before he'd left the RV because they might've come in handy on this raid. In addition, he'd left his coat in the RV for more than one reason, but mostly because it would cover the chest straps he wore where he kept his handgun—and he wished for the umpteenth time that he had a decent gun harness that he could put around his leg instead because it was a more convenient area to reach it.

But the green shirt he wore was pretty thick and long sleeved, rolled up to his elbows, so it would do. Though, he realized it was starting to drizzle as he got Cecilia's share of the ammunition put together on the hood, which would only make it feel even colder outside. Hopefully that light rain would clear up soon, but there was nothing to be done about it whether it did or not.

With a sigh, he looked around the area to check for monsters sneaking about, but again, it was silent for the moment. The only thing he did see was Cecilia and Wesker heading in with gas when he looked around.

Stepping toward the back of the hummer as they drew near, he asked more to the lady than to Wesker, "Did you manage to get anything?"

"Two and a half canisters," Cecilia told him on the way over, and he opened the back door for her. She walked around and settled the first one down and then turned around to take the remaining two from Wesker and load up.

"I've got a share of ammo for you on the hood," Chris started as she'd settled the canisters down in the car. "We're taking just a little extra for this."

"It's good to know," Wesker replied from behind where Chris stood at the hood of the hummer, drawing his attention quickly. He saw that Wesker was taking the ammunition he'd set out to place into his inner coat pocket as if gearing up for something in specific. The movements made Chris give the tyrant an odd look, which was met with a single brow raising over one of the lenses in Wesker's shades.

"What's that look about?," Wesker asked him. "You're not still sore about the other evening with the scavengers, are you?"

Chris ignored his sarcasm and asked on a potent tone of voice, "What are you doing?"

"I'm going with you."

Chris couldn't help himself. He suddenly let a loud snort as if highly amused. "You're going with me to help a sick child get medicine. Heh, right, and I'm the Wizard of Oz."

He then glanced at Cecilia who'd stood from the door of the hummer and shut it to realize that her expression wasn't one that said this was some kind of joke. When he saw the look, he heard Wesker saying, "Hmm, somehow I thought you were more similar to Dorothy trying to find her way back to Kansas, or Dallas as it were."

"Must make you the Tinman then," Chris shot back, looking over at him with a less than amused expression on his face. "So what the hell's going on?"

Wesker put his weapon on his belt after checking the chambers with a low snort over the thought of being heartless, and then looked at Chris again, getting back on their topic without question. "As I'd said, I'm going with you. If you'd rather Cecilia go, then fine. Take her to this facility and leave the mother and child in _my_ ever so capable hands. Or," he added alternatively, ignoring Chris's expression completely which was extremely annoyed, "I could go with you while Cecilia stays here to help, and we get the medicine faster than you would otherwise. You wouldn't know where to look as quickly as I, and nor would she."

Chris held his breath for a moment, giving Wesker a look that was of the killing variety before he glanced down while leaning against the hood of the hummer. As he did this, Cecilia said, "There's no sense arguing about it. You both may as well get over it and just get the stuff and get back so we can get out of here."

Chris didn't want to say so, but she was right, and Wesker _did_ know medical facilities better than anyone there. Finally, he gave the words on a somewhat strained voice, "Alright, fine. You win. But tell me _why_." After Chris made that demand, he stood up straight and turned to face Wesker completely. "You don't give a _damn_ about anyone else, so why haven't you just killed me like you wanted to the other night and then tried to move on your way, huh? I know my skills can't be _that_ useful to you."

"No, I don't care about the child or her mother," came a plain reply, "Yes, I could have strangled you the other night after my temper was provoked, but I _didn't_. Now, you are intent on getting this child the medical care she needs so that she won't compromise us later," Wesker paused, and then he turned to begin walking away before he finished, "so I figured speeding up the process would get us moving again sooner. I can't say it much more plainly than that regardless of how much trouble you have accepting it, Chris. Believe it or not, the world does not revolve around the things you merely _believe_ are true."

Chris watched him walking away, taking in a deep breath. After a silent moment, he looked back at Cecilia to see that she had a flat expression on her face. "Did you talk him into it?"

Cecilia scoffed, "If I had that kind of persuasion at my disposal, I might not be out here in the real world right now." She shrugged. "He just said it would work faster this way and he wants to get moving as soon as possible."

Chris grumbled. That sounded like Wesker, but at the same time, Chris wasn't sure. Either way, he knew he needed to get a move on things, so he informed the former police officer, "Regan has a radio, so we'll get into contact with you when we can."

"Don't worry about us," Cecilia replied. "Just watch _yourself_. Especially, well, you know, with _him_."

_Yeah, I know_, Chris thought to himself, looking ahead again with the thought before walking onward behind the tyrant just up ahead of him on the road. He didn't trust Wesker one damned bit, and his senses were tripping all over the place. He was almost tempted to argue that he would rather go alone, but the upside was that this got Wesker away from everyone else, which was actually a huge load off of his mind.

So he moved on along without complaint because Shannon needed the medicine sooner rather than later, and they needed to get this done as quickly as possible. He wasn't going to make her suffer longer than she had to just because he had a problem with his current traveling companion. Still, no questions asked, he was going to keep a close eye on both Wesker and himself.

Wesker said he was going to get them in and out faster and lessen the risk, but Chris really had to wonder if the risk was actually lower considering their circumstances. Like always, it was walking a fine line. Sometimes, he thought, that was all the world seemed to be made up of anymore.


	33. Sedation

_Chapter 32 - Sedation_

_ December, 5__th__, 2007_

_ Outside of Amarillo, Texas_

_ 7:51 AM_

Chris was starting to think he should've just gone alone.

He felt his chances were ten to one that at some point during this raid, Wesker was going to abandon him in a tight situation in order to pursue something _he_ deemed worthwhile. Wesker didn't even care about Shannon to begin with, he was just trying to speed things along for himself. Not to mention that, even though Wesker was working with him for now because his skills were useful, they hated each other's guts.

With the thought in mind, Chris changed his chances. Ten to one? Try ten to ten.

But Chris had to stay focused. They'd come to the lot where the cars were parked outside of the facility when he'd had the thoughts, and he looked around warily. The outside of the medical facility was completely deserted by people and the undead alike, just as it had been when they'd passed it on the highway. The two men traveling toward it both kept their eyes open about the cars littering the lot in places, both old and new, and even saw a bulldozer that was parked toward the left side which had been abandoned apparently, but looked as if it were being used before in order to do some expanding of the parking lot perhaps.

Chris looked away from it and up at the building ahead of them to see that some of the windows were broken out in places, but nothing else was visible inside of them and the building looked otherwise intact. No sound came except the light drizzles and the gusts of wind.

Everything was simply quiet—like the calm before a storm no matter if it was already raining out.

The two men got to the front doors which were also still intact, though an ominous foreboding came in the form of bloody hand prints swiped across the glass of one of them from the inside, as if an injured person had been trying to escape the building perhaps. Chris reached over and tugged on one of the handles even still, and it came to, proving it was unlocked. He glanced back briefly to see Wesker was heading in behind him as he went, and he stepped through to little foyer of the entryway where magazines and pamphlets sat on two tables to both sides of the room with message boards nailed to the walls above them, and they reached the second set of doors. Beyond them was an empty lobby, the reception desk, and waiting rooms.

It was still quiet. The facility wasn't what someone would call top of the line specifically, but it was nice enough considering it's remote distance. There was a reception area in the room behind a glass window, likely to lessen exposure to the sick who would come in on a daily basis. Pictures were laying on the beige carpeted floor leading up to it where previously they'd hung on the walls, saying that something had definitely happened here. More evidence of that existed in a long spattering of old, dried blood along with some bullet holes in the wall behind the reception counter, and the glass of the reception area was shattered as well due to that same gunfire.

As they drew closer to the window, they saw the body of a woman in a set of colorful scrubs who was laying on the marble floor behind the desk, and she had been there so long that she'd already withered and decayed a good bit. But they didn't bother making sure she wasn't going to get back up because there was already a bullet hole in her head.

Papers were also strewn about everywhere, both behind the reception area and in the lobby and waiting room. Two television monitors which were settled to the left and the right of the room over the areas where the chairs were arranged to seat patients who came to wait for the doctors were both broken. Some of the chairs were turned over, and Chris pushed one to the side and out of the way as he'd stepped through the room quietly. He glanced over into the corner to see another trail of blood that led from a spot on the wall and across the floor, eventually reaching an elevator door.

Not far from it was the corpse of a soldier wearing a gas mask and helmet, and a line of bullet holes were carved into his back with old, dried blood staining the floor around him. There was no bullet hole in the helmet he wore though, so Chris stepped over quietly, near the man's legs, and he held the gun trained on him as he kicked a foot into the corpse's boots, hoping to jar it awake if it was going to come back to life on him at all.

That didn't happen however, the man's body as stiff as a board and not going anywhere. Realizing this, Chris silently exhaled softly, wondering what the military had been doing at such a random location. Somehow, it didn't bode well, but he knelt anyway and pushed the stiff body to the side, finding a set of dog tags hanging around the man's collar. Without hesitation, Chris jerked them off and looked the name over.

_Private Christopher Hunt_. Not a name Chris was familiar with, but he put the tags into a pouch on his belt because, if he made it to Dallas, he'd be able to inform them in case this man had surviving family. Chris would've checked his pockets for ammunition, but there was no use. The man's gun holster was empty, saying someone had already cleaned him out since he'd died.

So instead, he stood up and looked around at the rest of the room, seeing what else might've been about.

There were two doors that headed into the back, probably to examination rooms for patients, and then there were entrances to the stairwells. Chris looked from one of the doors and over at Wesker when he deemed the place was pretty safe for the moment, seeing that the man had gone into the reception area behind the glass, and was looking through the things on the desk behind the counter, shuffling through papers, apparently trying to locate something in specific.

It took him a moment or two while Chris waited, but he finally returned to the waiting area when he found what he was looking for.

"The laboratories would be on the upper levels," he informed Chris as he walked over, having found a directory of the building in the reception area. "We need to go to level three. That's where the drug storage is kept."

With a brief nod, Chris motioned to the dead soldier and said, "The military was here. Seems kind of strange they'd send a unit to such a random place like this."

In seeing the corpse as he arrived in the vicinity, Wesker was quiet for a moment as if considering it. Chris was right, it did seem strange that a military unit would be sent to such a generic medical facility that was meant for servicing the public, even if the facility was a little more state of the art locally, and Wesker commented on it.

"There's no sign of military vehicles from what we've seen so far, so whatever the operation was, it must have been small scale, or rigged for stealth."

"I'm voting stealth. This guy looks like he was armed for something quiet."

Wesker had to agree with that assessment, though he only said, "It's of little consequence now however. Let's move on."

Chris supposed he was right, and he looked over at the door leading into the stairwell. He stepped over and took the lever of the door into his hand, quietly pushing it down until it clicked, then began to pull it open. Once the crack was big enough, he aimed his handgun inside, the chamber beyond cast in a green color with emergency signs that were still lit. Stepping inside, he looked up the stairs, growing only a slight bit more relaxed when nothing immediately moved or jumped at him.

Wesker walked in behind him and headed over to the stairwell quietly. When he saw the lights of the emergency signs, he said, "The building must have an emergency power supply still operating inside of it."

"That's what I was thinking," Chris returned before he started taking the stairs behind Wesker, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that might be above them. On the wall at the bottom of the steps, they passed a sign that said 'Level One', and then met the landing a moment later where another sign read 'Level Two'. They began to round past the door leading into that level and to the next set of steps, but Chris suddenly stopped when he heard a growl that was muffled coming from beyond the entryway into the second floor. Without pause, he turned around to aim his weapon toward the door.

As he watched it, waiting in slight uncertainty, there was eventually a soft thump coming from the other side at random intervals. Hearing this, Chris slightly turned his head and glanced back to see that Wesker had noticed the sounds coming from the inside of the second level as well. Quietly, Chris backed up and said nothing because it was obvious to the both of them that there was _something_ beyond the door, letting another snarl between thumps as it moved about.

In that particular moment, Chris felt fortunate that they didn't need to go in there in specific. Another part of him, however, felt certain it might become a problem later.

Regardless, he made it to the landing of the stairs above before he lowered his weapon from aiming at the door, and then followed Wesker up toward the top floor where the sign said 'Level Three'. For all intents and purposes, the stairwell itself seemed to be pretty well cleaned out, saying that whatever might've been lurking on the second level hadn't quite managed to get out of there yet, and Chris hoped it stayed that way during their little visit.

The door on the third level had a small, rectangular shaped glass in it, and Wesker stepped over to look through it quietly. Chris waited, and when Wesker saw that the coast was clear on the other side where a hallway resided, he opened the door and stepped in, his own handgun at the ready for anything.

Chris moved in behind Wesker, though aiming in the other direction as they'd emerged into a corridor that was only lit because there were windows at both ends letting in some of the cloudy daylight outside. Only two other doors lined that hallway around the entrance into the stairwell—one marked as being a custodian's storage room, the other as being a simple closet, probably where the employees hung their coats for work every day.

Aside from that, there was another hall that branched off of the one they currently stood within, like a T shape, which was bigger and led down through the body of the building. Some dim light was coming from that direction as well, but it was flickering on and off over desks and cubicles in an office area not too far ahead of them both.

With only one way to go, Chris and Wesker both turned to move into the area.

More papers were strewn around beneath the unstable lighting, more chairs toppled over, and some of the computers on the desks were destroyed by what looked like gunfire. There were a few holes in the walls, suggesting an automatic weapon just like the evidence one the first floor suggested had been used. It definitely pointed to some kind of military effort having taking place there, as the corpse of the soldier in the waiting room Chris had come across did.

But why the military had come there in specific was still anyone's guess. There could have been a million reasons overall, and Chris only regretted they weren't there now. Well, in so many ways considering the way the world had gone and whether or not the unit had become something of a vigilante group and trying to survive, cut off from the rest of the world.

As Chris had the thought, a moan coming from up ahead got the men to stop walking, but only Chris aimed his weapon as they quietly listened for further sound where they stood now inside of the large corridor. Aside from the buzzing of the light fixtures above them, they heard nothing further. There was definitely a zombie somewhere nearby however, and the silence following it's initial sound was always the irritating, and sometimes nerve wracking part. Perhaps it was wandering away from them both, or it might have wandered into their sights at any moment.

Chris, when nothing else sounded, asked Wesker, "Any idea _where_ the storage room might be up here?"

"Not a clue," Wesker replied. "Though it will be labeled and located close to any test rooms or labs for ease of access."

Chris never thought he'd see the day that Wesker's knowledge of medical facilities would come in handy, but apparently that day had come. As they moved further into the messy office area finally, they heard another moan like before, and both men turned to their right as the wall of the corridor had ended, seeing a lone zombie standing there swaying near a water fountain on the wall. It apparently either heard them or just saw them from the corner of its eyes as well because the tall, thin, decaying man began to turn to face them.

He hadn't been there for long from the looks of it, his body discolored but he was in decent enough shape, and the clothing he wore remained clean looking, saying he might not have had any kind of meal since he'd died. But whatever the story behind the man was, he began to walk toward the newly presented meals he saw now with a grunted out rasp of air, drool falling from his bottom lip with his arms reaching out toward them.

Wesker began to put his weapon back inside of his jacket as the corpse closed in, and grabbed the knife he kept on the back of his belt, flipping it over in his hand to hold the blade between his gloved fingers before he tossed it at the zombie's head. The blade flipped through the air a few times and stabbed into the dead man's forehead, stopping him from reaching them completely before he fell backwards with a thud of sound while Chris watched their backs and sides for anymore of the undead monsters that might approach them.

As Wesker went to go collect his knife, Chris noticed something on the far wall, and he side stepped toward it with his gun held up to try to read what it said through a flickering light fixture above him.

Wesker jerked his knife out of the zombie's head and wiped it on the man's shirt, then looked up when he heard Chris asking, "You said it would be near the labs?"

With the question in place, Wesker stood and walked over toward Chris and glanced at the door he was looking at. It had the label of "Laboratory C" on the front with a biohazard symbol plastered beneath it.

"It shouldn't be far," Wesker pointed out after reading the words, looking to the left along the wall at the other, nearby doors. Laboratory B was the next one down, and he went even further, when suddenly he said, "Bingo."

Three doors away, and about fifteen feet from where they'd been before, there was a door that was labeled quite plainly as 'Drug Storage'. Wesker began to head toward it, seeing a keypad on the door next to the wall. Chris noticed the same thing and rolled his eyes when he also saw that the green light on it was actively glowing, saying the thing was probably locked.

"Great, we need a number."

"Or a card to swipe for the slot," Wesker added as an alternative when he saw there was a place to do such a thing.

"Maybe the dead guy has one." Chris mused aloud as he turned to go check while Wesker looked around the office area, wondering momentarily how much longer this might take and considering speeding it up by simply busting his fist through the door, when something caught his eye.

He looked up and to the right of himself to see a security camera with a red, blinking light on it that was mounted in the corner of the walls at the ceiling which had just turned in Chris' direction when Chris began to move.

Someone was watching them, otherwise the camera wouldn't have just panned in behind Chris to see what he was doing. Perhaps there was no audio if that were the case since Chris had just announced where he was going to go. Curious, Wesker thought to himself silently, and then aimed his weapon.

Chris got to the body of the zombie that Wesker had just killed a moment ago and began checking the pockets out. After a moment, he found a swipe card that had a profile picture on it vaguely resembling the face of the dead man he'd just torn it off of, a more healthy, alive face that was. It had a black strip across the back as well that said it was indeed used for swiping. Hopefully it would work.

"Yeah, he's got one," Chris announced, standing up when he heard a sudden gunshot and a burst of sound following it. The explosion got him to turn around swiftly, and he aimed in Wesker's direction on instinct, but he only saw his old enemy standing there and no one else around.

Wesker rolled his eyes when Chris aimed at him, saying, "You really should break yourself of that habit for now, Chris."

Chris rolled his eyes over the comment, and then glanced up where Wesker had just been aiming a moment beforehand to see sparks coming out of a wire in the wall as he lowered his weapon. "What the hell was that?"

"Someone's been watching us," Wesker explained simply. "The camera up there turned to follow your movement when you walked in that direction. I thought to severe the connection just incase."

Chris let out a soft sigh, unsure if that was a bad thing or not, but there was nothing to be done about it now except for moving on. So he walked toward the drug storage door and said on the way, "Just hope you don't have to swipe it _and_ put in a number."

He lifted the card up and drew it through the slot. Once he had, the green light turned blue for a moment, then back to green before they heard a click as the door unlocked itself. Instead of getting rid of the swipe card once they had access though, Chris stuffed it into his pants pocket just incase. After all, if Wesker was right and someone was here, who knew how handy it might be in the near future.

He let Wesker take the handle and open the door, listening when the tyrant informed him plainly, "I could have just broken it down."

Chris hadn't forgotten about Wesker's strength at all, but he'd never trained himself to think of it as an _asset_ to be used in these situations instead of merely considering it as a threat to himself. So the line made him roll his eyes and look over at Wesker in irritation.

"Then why the hell didn't you?"

"Because I noticed the camera and I don't like showing off what I'm capable of at just any given time. Otherwise I would have done so while you were walking away to check the corpse," he informed Chris as he stepped inside of the chamber where several shelves filled with drug containers were located.

Chris let out a silent sigh of breath in agitation, but he simply walked inside and pushed that agitation away because it wouldn't be worth it to focus on. So he focused on the room they were entering instead. Looking around, he noticed all of the shelves and racks containing different types of drug supplies, some of which were iron racks, and others that were built into the walls on plastic boards. They were carrying wrapped boxes, IV bags, and bottles alike settled neatly together. Some of the boxes had labels such as '15 – 25 g. Hypodermic Needles' and others read as '50 pck gauze'.

Chris looked those boxes over, and noticed that another set of them read 'Thermometers'. He decided to tear into it so that he could pull one out seeing as Shannon had a fever they would need to gauge.

The bottles along the shelves all had differing drug names on them, an entire section dedicated entirely to inhalers only. There was also a cooler door to the far end for refrigerated drugs, and then one other door on the opposing wall next to a window that showed a medical lab beyond the storage room where they could see a curtain drawn around a gurney, but not much else besides that from where they stood.

Chris got a thermometer out of the box he'd grabbed and shoved it into the pouch on his belt before he walked over to where the bottles were located, seeing the differing names. He recalled the list, and that Amoxicillin was on it, but looking the bottles over, he didn't see anything by that name in specific where he stood.

Wesker suddenly asked him, "Since we're being so thorough with this, did the mother mention her child had any allergies?"

"No, she said she didn't have any and mentioned Amoxicillin."

Wesker turned when he got that answer and tossed a bottle toward Chris without question, the contents inside rattling on the way. Chris caught it in one hand while Wesker told him, "Then there is a bottle of it that should suit her needs."

That was indeed what the bottle in his hand read. Amoxicillin. Chris let out a sigh but declined on making a response, simply putting the bottle into his pouch before looking back at the shelf where he was standing to see Vicodin near the bottom, Percocets, and other kinds of painkillers. That might come in handy for an adult if something happened, he considered briefly, though he wouldn't use it because they would impair his judgment and he needed a clear head in this world in order to survive.

But when he saw the Acetaminophen, he grabbed a bottle of it. That was the same drug used in ibuprofen that helped to break fevers, and it was on the list Regan had given him. She already had some, but it wouldn't hurt to take a little more. Not to mention, they were painkillers, and non-narcotic, so there wouldn't be any side effects to taking them that could make someone feel loopy. Who knew how handy they might be to everyone to have a little extra of whenever it came down to it.

Once he had it, Chris looked to his left across the way and noticed that there were shelves on the opposing wall containing syrups, considering the fact that he needed a cough suppressant. Stepping over, he noticed Wesker had also looked at the bottles and gone to a few as well. Before Chris could even look the names over, Wesker grabbed one and held it out to him.

Chris looked to his hand to see the name "Guaifenesin" across the label, as well as the more familiar word "Robitussin" beneath it. When he saw this, Wesker asked him knowingly, "You're looking for a cough suppressant, aren't you?"

Chris didn't care for the way he'd said that, the two of them staring at each other for a moment, neither with a very pleasant expression on his face. Chris took the bottle from Wesker suddenly, but never pulled his eyes away from the man himself.

"Yeah," he replied without further elaboration.

"You almost act as if she's yours," Wesker suggested, unaffected by the way Chris had snatched the bottle or glared at him, and he'd spoken the words as if perhaps fishing for information. Chris added the item to the pouch on his belt while Wesker added the question, "Developing a soft spot, are you?"

"She's just a kid, Wesker," Chris replied simply enough, though his tone was completely unpleasant. "What makes you think I wouldn't do it for—," and Chris stopped when both men heard the sound of something crashing in the medical room beyond them, a sound that got them both to turn and aim their weapons through the window that looked into the laboratory where the sound had come from.

They didn't see anything right away, but they heard some slight shuffling. The gurney behind the curtain had moved just enough to be noticeable, and the shadows cast on the draped, blue clothe surrounding it suggested that someone was, in fact, on the bed. But whoever it was looked like they were struggling as if strapped down to it perhaps.

"What the hell?," Chris asked, the question directed more at the air around them than at Wesker. Was that a person who'd actually been strapped down? Chris had his reservations about the notion, but who the hell would strap a zombie to a bed? Whoever it was, chances seemed better that they were actually alive. _Maybe_.

Wesker, also a bit curious over the sight, turned and stepped in closer to the window, looking into the room quietly. He glanced around at the walls where there were x ray charts and other types of notes pinned up, and across the room on the left wall from Wesker's current perspective was another door that led to who knew where in the building.

As he noticed this, he reached for the door next to the window and took the knob into his hand to turn it only to realize that it was locked. When Chris saw him doing so, he heard a loud ping of metal as Wesker pushed the handle down even harder, breaking the lock without any trouble, including the doorknob, and then slipped the door open freely.

Chris let out a sigh of breath in turn, but hesitantly followed him with more than a few reservations about it in mind over the situation.

Wesker stepped into the room and beyond the threshold of the curtain that had barred their view from the gurney just a moment beforehand, and when Chris walked in behind him, he looked over at the bed with him. They found themselves looking at a woman who was strapped down to it by her arms and legs, and apparently, had also been by strapped down by the throat only a few moments before. The sound of the crash they'd heard came from when that particular strap's latch had broken because it was old and faulty, and she'd knocked over a metal table close to where she lay when she'd pushed herself up. Or tried to anyway.

The thing was that she wasn't a person, she was a zombie, and she was trying to get free and, more specifically now, get to them when she saw them, letting out frantic moans and slobbering a few lines of drool onto the bloody hospital gown she wore.

The fact that the gown was bloody said that she'd fed since she'd become a zombie, but whether she'd caught prey herself or had _been fed_ by someone else was another question altogether—after all, traces of blood could be seen on the floor surrounding the bed as well. Her skin was pale and discolored, but she looked as if she'd been fine when she'd died. No bite marks or scratches from what Chris could see, and nothing else missing on her body. Though her skin was withered and she was dirty, her hair was still long and full, a dark brown color, and her facade promised that she'd been a beautiful woman when she was alive.

But now, her murky eyes only stared at the two men before her hungrily, her teeth yellowed with the things she'd previously eaten.

Chris asked the first, most obvious question. "Why the hell is this thing strapped to the bed?"

"Experiments," Wesker replied, having already looked over at the charts on the walls. He reached up and took one down, saying, "They were trying to figure everything out for themselves. This says the doctors here were looking for a way to reverse the change because there's not a vaccine readily available."

He read a passage that said, "Dated two days ago, the doctor says that though the corpses have reanimated, their bodies are more resilient unless the brain matter is destroyed. This could mean that figuring out a way to restore higher brain functioning rather than reversing the change may be even more beneficial to the victims." Wesker's tone was flat as he read the words, then summarized the whole thing by saying, "Essentially, they were trying to reverse _death_ itself."

To Wesker, the notion was idiotic, but he'd looked at something else in specific the page listed that captured his complete attention and became silent after telling Chris those words.

Chris thought that sounded like a potential reason for the military showing up here, but then again, that reason seemed a little thin to him. He also thought it sounded like a case of someone being driven mad by all of the death and chaos around them, perhaps even driven there by their own losses of family and friends. Chris couldn't help but remember that Wesker was one of the very ones who'd engineered this virus as well, and was close to saying something about it, but what good would it do? It sure as hell wouldn't change anything, and Wesker didn't give a shit.

Chris was glowering in his direction with the thoughts in mind, but he noticed that Wesker had taken an interest in the clipboard he was holding onto. When he continued reading it despite the fact that he thought the research was, of course, idiotic, Chris asked him, "What's so interesting?"

Wesker glanced to the side at him, and then back at the papers, saying, "A name that sounds familiar to me, though indirectly."

"Who's name?" Chris stepped over to look at the clipboard while the zombie on the gurney continued growling and groaning, actively trying to get to the both of them despite the fact that she was strapped down.

"The name on the paper is Richard Forbes," Wesker responded, still staring at the clipboard as he turned without looking held out his arm, weapon aimed, and took a shot without warning. The writhing corpse on the bed suddenly fell back and lay completely still, the bullet Wesker had fired going right through her head, dark red blood and gore spattering across the white wall behind her and dripping down it in thick rivulets. The result was a stark silence in contrast to her groans prior to the blow that allowed him to focus on the papers in peace while putting his weapon back into his coat.

Chris rolled his eyes, thinking it was a waste of a bullet, but that was on Wesker. Instead of paying it any attention, he just asked, "Who is he? Someone you know?"

"No, not Richard Forbes, but if I'm correct, he's related to someone I was once acquainted with."

"Someone important I'm guessing or you wouldn't have stopped to look."

"Hmph," Wesker drew out, flipping the page up and looking more of the data over. "I wouldn't say _important_ in specific, but fairly noteworthy." When he looked over the next page, he quirked a brow over what he read. "This is mentioning working with a new virus sample, not the T Virus, but needing a subject for the case."

Chris noticed that, a suspicious expression on his face, but he didn't comment on what that virus might be, and instead, only mentioned, "Sounds like it's time to go then. I'd rather not become a test subject here, and you just took out one of their experiments."

Normally, he would've wanted to stick around and investigate the implication of these kinds of experiments further, but in this situation, and with his current and only so-called partner being Wesker, Chris wasn't completely interested. If anything, he could get to Dallas and send someone back to finish whatever the military had started here, and this was definitely a reason that Chris could see a military unit being sent out.

Wesker scoffed over the notion of being a test subject, then tossed the clipboard down while saying, "True enough," before turning to leave the room, heading back toward the drug storage area they'd entered from. Chris looked at the name Richard Forbes for a moment, trying to memorize it as he also turned, heading to the door when he heard a slight creak behind him and suddenly a quick snap of sound followed directly by a little pinch in the side of his neck.

Chris turned around when this happened and aimed his weapon at the alternate door in the room. When he did, he saw that a man had cracked the doorway open and had aimed a dart gun through it. The small crack didn't allow Chris to see his face however, but the sight of the dart gun got him to reach up to the side of his neck quickly and grab the catalyst of the pinch he'd felt there a brief moment beforehand.

When he did, he tugged out a small dart that he only briefly looked at before he dropped it onto the floor and took his weapon into both hands again, and when he did, the man who'd shot him rushed back into the room he'd shot from and shut the door on Chris, intent on avoiding any gunfire for the moment apparently.

Chris moved toward the door behind him and grabbed the knob only to find that it was locked, _of course_. The realization got him to cuss as he punched his fist into it.

"Shit!"

It became apparent when Chris turned around to look for Wesker that he'd been shot with a sedative because his vision had become blurry, and he couldn't focus. Shaking his head, he fought against the dizziness setting in, trying to keep himself awake. He had the sudden thought that this might've been the doctor's way of getting a new test subject—saying that this man was in fact a doctor. The thought got Chris to fight harder than before however, stepping to the side and heading toward the storage room door with heavy, misplaced footfalls.

Where the hell _was_ Wesker anyway? He couldn't have already gone back to the office area.

That was the last thought that passed through Chris's head before the sedative he'd been injected with suddenly flooded his senses and his legs turned into rubber beneath him completely. He tried to grab a table nearby to steady himself, but he ended up toppling over onto the floor anyway, pulling it over as well with a loud clatter of sound.

Once he'd landed, he tried to look around, but everything was trailing, and after a moment, he saw a black boot stepping before his line of vision. He was clinging to what little consciousness he had left, and felt something being removed from his pocket before he turned his disoriented gaze up. When he did, he saw Wesker standing over him, plucking the ID Card out of his pocket, the same he'd swiped from the zombie that was killed earlier before the man stood up straight and then looked back down at him.

Though sound was just as warbled as his vision in that particular moment, Chris understood what Wesker said to him next.

"Perhaps it's best if, while you take a nap, I have a look around and see if I can figure anything out. I'll _try_ not to let them do anything too unsavory to you in the meantime."

Ten out of ten. Whatever happened next, Chris wasn't sure. His eyes fell shut and he passed out as the odds he'd bet on before came to fruition.


	34. Experiment

_Chapter 33 - Experiment_

_ December, 5__th__, 2007_

_ Outside of Amarillo, Texas_

"I didn't think you'd be out for too much longer, just long enough to get what I needed," came a man's voice through the pallidly lit room.

The sound of metal tapping against metal could be heard every so often as Chris began to open his eyes. He couldn't see terribly well, and he felt lethargic, his head clearing up from the sedative he'd been injected with earlier. As this happened, and he tried to focus, he heard the voice that had just spoken adding professionally as if utilizing some misplaced beside manner with him, "A man your size wouldn't be affected too badly by that particular amount of sedative."

The room around him began to come more into view, which was fairly silver gray in complexion, the walls bare and clean, and a dim light was coming from his right side, suggesting a window letting in the illumination a cloudy day had to offer. In addition to the metal tapping sound he'd heard, Chris could also hear the tapping of rain against glass, suggesting the weather outside had gotten a little worse since he and Wesker had entered the medical facility, which he knew he had to still be inside of now.

The question was _where_ inside of the facility however, and also, where the hell was Wesker? Chris remembered him taking the ID Card before he'd passed out when the question popped into his head. Then he remembered what Wesker had told him, that he was going to leave him to be taken by his assailant so that he could go and have look around.

That didn't surprise Chris one damned bit. What were those odds again? And Wesker called _him_ predictable, Chris thought with an inward scoff.

His musings were interrupted though when the man in the room with him began to speak. "I'd give you my name, but I don't think you're interested in proper introductions."

Chris didn't respond. The man was right, he _wasn't_ interested in that, especially when he'd walked over and reached to Chris's out stretched arm, taking what Chris realized was a needle stuck in his skin in order to tug it out. He'd just tried to move his arms as well, both of which were stretched above above his head, to realize that they were strapped down at the wrists to a bar of the gurney that he was laying across. On a hunch, he tried to move a leg only to realize that the same was true of his ankles.

He was currently captive, and that didn't bode well whatsoever, especially not with the realization that the man had already been poking him with needles in his sleep, a thought which made Chris's insides knot up.

His vision was finally adjusting now, and he lifted his head a bit and looked over to see that there was a metal table standing against the wall directly across the room from the gurney he was on where his weapons and radio were laying. Also, the man had gone through his pouches because the medicine that Chris had grabbed for Shannon was settled there along with the dog tags that he'd taken from the soldier in order to return them to Dallas in the event that the dead man had family living somewhere.

Chris looked away from the table when he realized this, and over to the man who'd spoken to him after he'd woken up, more than likely the same guy who'd shot him. He was standing about five feet to the left of the gurney, wearing a lab coat, and he was settling some items onto a metal tray, which accounted for the tapping sound Chris had heard when he'd started to wake up. The items were medical utensils, including a few capped hypodermic needles, three vials that looked like they were filled with blood—which Chris hoped was _all_ this man had done to him so far—and a syringe of which had some kind of dark liquid in it that Chris couldn't discern the precise color of in the current lighting.

But knowing the coloring didn't make the situation any better. Chris kept remembering the clipboard in the laboratory saying there was a virus sample they needed to test on a subject, and _that_ was what mattered. Just like Chris had thought, they'd—or _he_—had gone to the trouble of finding someone to inject with it.

With a little more clarity of thought now, Chris asked on as biting a tone of voice as he could muster in that moment, "What the hell are you doing? Injecting me with something?," even though he still felt loopy from being drugged earlier, so his voice wasn't at its normal level of indignation. He tugged on his arms again regardless of his state of being however, and that's when the man gave him a reply.

"Save your strength, those harnesses aren't going to break. Besides, I'll freely answer questions as long as you're cooperative with me in return. I have quite a few, after all."

Chris wanted to give him some colorful euphemism that meant something like 'kiss my ass, doc', but he stayed quiet, watching as his captor came over to the left side of the gurney he was strapped to, giving him a much better look at his face. Despite a balding head of dark hair, he looked young, though Chris couldn't quite tell if he was younger than himself or not. Perhaps they were the same age. But while he looked like an average doctor, there was something to his face that seemed highly grieved, a look Chris knew too well not to notice.

Other than that, he wasn't anything special, average build, clean shaven face, and wearing a blue button down beneath his lab coat which looked as if it'd been kept as clean as possible. Whoever he was, he apparently liked to be neat and thorough judging by those visual standards.

"I only took blood from you, no injections. I needed samples to start off. So there's an answer, now you give me one," he started as he came toward the gurney, tugging a pair of rubber gloves off while looking down at Chris. "It's apparent that you're no typical civilian judging by the way you handled yourself coming into this place. That means you know things that I need to, even if they're small things. So first of all, what branch of the government do you work for in particular? Basic military? Or perhaps something more along the lines of the marines?"

"None," Chris shot back. That was the truth as well, he wasn't literally a part of any government agency. The BSAA was an organization of its own, and Chris wasn't even going to mention it to this guy, or anything else, not until he knew a little more information of his own—saying he didn't get out of this situation first that was.

"Really? Because, aside from medicine, I found dog tags in your belt pouch. Your name wouldn't happen to be Christopher Hunt, would it?"

Chris didn't bother with shaking his head as the doctor reached to untie the uncomfortable rubber band that had been put around his left arm before he'd woken up, only told the man sternly, "No. I was on my way to Dallas, but I had to stop for supplies, that's why I came here. The dog tags aren't mine."

The man scoffed in response, saying he didn't believe Chris. Sighing out a breath, he asked as he tossed the gloves and the band into a trash bin not far away but out of Chris's field of vision, "You really expect me to believe that after everything that happened?"

"I don't even _know_ what the hell happened!," Chris retorted, more of his ire showing the more awake he became. "I saw a soldier's corpse on the way in if that's what you mean, but besides that, I have no clue what's going on."

"That other fellow you came in with, the one wearing the shades, is still missing by the way," the man replied as if completely ignoring Chris's claims. "I thought he might try to find you, but I haven't seen him anywhere. Do you think he may have gone back to wherever the two of you came from to report something?"

Chris let a low groan, biting his tongue to try to keep himself from snapping at this guy because if anything, he needed the man to believe him. Anything that gave Chris a window of opportunity for escape was what mattered here. But he couldn't help being irate. Not even Wesker leaving him to be 'experimented on' got to him that much. After all, it was Wesker, of course he'd do that kind of thing. But this guy simply dismissing his claims was extremely irritating.

"No," Chris answered on a hard tone of voice. "Why the hell won't you believe that? We didn't come here for any special reason except looking for supplies. So why don't you tell _me_ why the military was out here? What did they do?"

The man was setting the vials of blood he'd taken up in a little stand so he could carry them to a lab while the questions were being asked. Turning to face Chris once he was done, he asked as if he might've been starting to believe him, "You really don't know, do you?"

"That's what I've been saying all along, goddamn it!," Chris retorted, unable to help but show his temper just then. "I don't know anything about what's going on, _including_ why there was a zombie strapped to a gurney in one of your labs."

At the mention of the woman, the doctor let out a low sigh of breath, and his shoulders slumped. Chris watched him carefully, trying to take in anything about him that he could in order to change this situation. So he asked a question that seemed highly likely to have a positive answer judging by the man's reaction in order to try to waylay whatever he had planned and give himself a greater chance of escape.

"She was someone you knew, wasn't she?"

The man gave a look that said he either didn't want to answer, or didn't think Chris deserved to know. His brows had narrowed and the line of his mouth had gone hard, but he did, eventually, begin to speak. He'd looked ahead and toward the window in the room as he did, the shadows of the rain splashing across the glass outside blotting his skin and clothing here and there.

"Just as the outbreaks started, my wife became ill. I didn't want to believe it was the same thing everyone else was getting, hoped it was just some phase of her early pregnancy starting up, but it wasn't, and we couldn't figure out any cures in time to save her. It happened too fast. My father owned this place though, and he'd done pathology research before. So when we couldn't save _her_ from changing, we contained her like the woman you saw, and began trying to figure out how to reverse it."

With a sigh let out, he looked back at Chris and further explained, "But no, the woman _you_ saw was a nurse working here named Charlotte, one I was studying to try to figure out the virus's effects on the body."

Though he knew it wasn't possible to reverse the change because the infected were already dead, Chris wasn't entirely sure if he could blame this guy directly for everything going on because it seemed like grief had driven him to desperation so deep that it had become madness. So Chris did blame him, but not for the parts he couldn't help. Not everyone handled devastation in the same way, and _this_ particular brand of devastation was potent.

Still, he _had_ noticed one thing in particular, and he said it aloud. "Was she purposefully infected to be studied? I didn't see any bite marks on her."

The doctor gave him an indignant look, asking, "What would you know about it? We were trying to _save_ people! I needed to know how! My father was adamant over it, and so we did whatever we could. Then the military arrived here, and they killed him! So I had to pick up where he left off, I promised him that I would!"

Grief was definitely flooding this man, it was plain to see. All Chris was hoping though was that, while he was telling his story, he wouldn't notice that his prisoner had already managed to loosen the straps around his wrists. They were wound pretty tightly, and still looped too small to pry his hands out of, but Chris knew he could slip them if given enough time to.

"My father though," the doctor continued after a moment of thought and calming himself down a little bit. "I didn't know it, but he already knew about these kinds of viruses, even before the outbreaks. I looked through his notes after he was killed, but I still don't know _why_." He turned around and wandered off for a moment, walking toward the center of the room while muttering more to himself than to Chris, "It had to do with my uncle. But what was going on, and why did he keep so much from me?"

Chris could feel the strap around his left wrist growing a little more lenient, and as the man turned his back, he jerked his arm a bit to try to make it even looser. The doctor was right about the harnesses, they were thick and pretty strong, but Chris wasn't going to give up.

As he worked on them silently, he asked to keep the doctor occupied, "So they came here for your father, and you've been here alone ever since?" Though he was only asking to buy time, that _was_ an important question. Was this guy alone, or did he have someone else around?

His back still turned, the doctor answered, "No, I'm not alone, but you don't need to know more than that. And they didn't just want to kill my father, but also to stop our research. They didn't understand what we were trying to accomplish here."

This whole thing seemed completely sketchy to Chris, not to mention crazy, but that was already obvious. Even if these people had been looking for a way to reverse the change the T Virus caused, and had infected people in order to study it as well, with a global outbreak going on, that wouldn't put them at the top of the list of priorities.

"That makes no sense though," Chris started, and he didn't care if the man was crazy or not. "They wouldn't send someone to this clinic when the whole world's going to shit. You wouldn't be that important to them." Chris realized that line said he knew more about the way the military worked than he'd let on so far, but he had to point it out.

The doctor let out a sigh of breath, then he turned around and grabbed the syringe on the table he'd lined with medical utensils earlier, the one with the dark liquid inside of it—a move which made Chris's survival instincts sound an alarm. He twisted his left wrist a little harder in order to loosen it more if he could before the doctor could turn back around, uncaring about the slight burns it would cause on his skin. But he stopped moving his hands at all when the man was facing him with the syringe in hand.

"Now that you're telling me a little more, I'll tell you that I know it was both to stop the research, and for _this_." He let Chris see the capped syringe, and the color of the liquid inside of it was a dark purple now that the dim light coming in through the window was cast across it.

"They want what's in it, which my father got his hands on. Some kind of classified virus, and I still don't know _how_ he got it, though perhaps...," he trailed, then shook his head as if he didn't want to mention what he'd been thinking about just then, saying something else instead.

"My father thought it was important enough to keep stored and try to work on some kind of vaccination for it as well. Or he _would_ have if they hadn't killed him for it, and he refused to explain anything about it to me before he died. I only know that he thought it might make an outbreak soon as well, and what it's called."

"And that is...?" Chris asked, staring at the needle with the purple liquid inside of it, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer no matter what the man said.

"It's called the G Virus," the doctor replied as if there were nothing to it.

Though Chris had known he wouldn't like the answer, he hadn't expected to hear _that_ in specific, and his expression showed it. Before he could make a response though, the doctor said, "I've been needing a new test subject in order to find out what this virus does. Seems like now's the best time of any."

Chris looked from the syringe and up to the ignorant man holding it, his expression as serious as it had ever been. He had one chance to stop this guy now, and he wasn't going to waste it.

"If you want to figure out what it does, then let me give you a real clear picture of it, pal."

"How do _you_ know what it does?," he asked on a condescending tone of voice.

"Because you were right that I'm not a typical civilian, but I _was_ completely honest when I told you that I'm not with the military. I belong to an organization that works outside of the military to keep these kinds of outbreaks under control. So let me give you a word of advice. You stick that needle in me, and you may as well find anyone else in this place with you and kill them, then put a gun to your own head and pull the trigger—"

"You're confined."

"—because these fucking _straps_ aren't going to do _shit_ about holding me down if I'm infected with that," Chris continued on more irately despite what the doctor tried to say, his expression serious. After a moment of letting those words settle in the man's head, he went on in an attempt to make the picture as clear as possible.

"And what it'll turn me into," Chris started to slowly shake his head at his captor ominously. "Well, you won't survive to remember it even if I told you."

The doctor stared at him quietly, his face washed over with scrutiny, the silence giving Chris a chance to continue, which he took. "The G Virus isn't something you need to wave around and infect someone with just because you've got some kind of researcher's curiosity biting you in the ass. I don't know who your father was, or why he had that virus, but it's not going to do you any good to infect someone with it unless you wanna see your own guts on the outside of your body. It won't turn them into anything like the nurse in that lab I saw, or anyone else out there in the world now that you've seen. It'll do a hundred times worse."

Once he'd said that, he looked at the syringe, then back up at the doctor with a pointed expression. "So mark my words, the best thing for you to do with that virus is to sterilize it, not study it, and sure as hell not infect someone with it."

Once Chris had given him that serious warning, the doctor looked back at the syringe he held, and then to the side in thought. Chris was so close to tugging his hand out now, but he couldn't quite get the damned strap over his thumb. After all, having a huge eyeball in his shoulder wasn't a look he'd like to sport, and the thought definitely got Chris on his toes about getting the fuck out of there because, despite his sincere warning, he had no idea if this doctor would listen to him or not.

That was when he got his answer. With a sigh of breath, the man said, "I...do believe you. But I can't just abandon my father's research. I made him a promise, and he died for this. I'm...sorry."

He tugged the cap of the syringe off and threw it away, then went back to the table where the other medical utensils were settled so that he could grab something to sterilize Chris's arm—ironic considering what he was about to do. But Chris began to tug hard on his arm when he did, adrenaline pumping through him in response to the verdict of injection. The strap started cutting into his skin and drawing blood, but he didn't give a damn. This man was going to inject him with the G Virus in a matter of moments now, and Chris would rather cut his left thumb off completely, or hell, his whole hand, and slip the straps that way than let that happen.

"You're gonna be even more sorry if you do this," Chris told him seriously as he grunted with his efforts.

Just as his hand was breaking free, and before the doctor could even turned back around to face him with the syringe, a loud crash got both men's attention, and the doctor suddenly jerked and looked over at the door where the sound had come from. A harsh force had just broken the wooden frame clean off of its hinges, and behind it stood Wesker who waited for it to fall over and settle onto the tiled floor with a loud thud before he moved.

Once it had, the black clad man casually stepped into the room without expression, simply saying in a pointed fashion, "Knock, knock."

Chris's left arm finally came free of the straps he'd been working on loosening so diligently when this happened, and he didn't hesitate to reach over and free his other arm while he looked at the door briefly to see what the hell had just happened. Still, the sound didn't break his focus or startle him out of no longer trying. He just kept going, and when he saw Wesker, he found it extremely odd that he actually felt a little relief.

Not complete relief though—he was still half strapped to a gurney with a syringe carrying the G Virus on a table nearby, and Albert Wesker had just walked into the room—but at least the tables were finally turning for him.

The doctor reacted to Wesker's intrusion by looking over at the other table not too far away from the door where Chris's weapons were laying, and he tried to make run for them in order to hold Wesker at gunpoint. But Wesker moved into his path much too quickly to allow him to take more than two steps. Before the doctor could blink, Wesker had grabbed the arm of the same hand that he held the syringe in and lifted it upward so that he could duck under it. The movement put Wesker behind the man, and he stepped in until the doctor's arm was right against his back in a tight, painfully twisted grip.

Wesker used one hand to lock it in place there, and the other to snag the syringe he'd held, easily plucking it from his fingers. As this was going on, Chris had gotten both of the straps around his ankles undone, and he turned and got up off of the bed, looking over at the two when Wesker began to speak to the doctor he held captive now.

"So, you're related to Michael Forbes." Wesker scoffed slightly. "I'd suspect you're a nephew perhaps. I know Forbes had a brother named Richard who wasn't nearly so clever in any case."

"Shutup! My father was brilliant!"

"I don't particularly care about your father, or your bias toward him," Wesker replied plainly. "I will say, however, that finding out samples of the G Virus exist in such a low grade facility is uncanny, though I have no doubts that was Forbes' intention, his way of trying to escape the spotlight. So don't worry, considering you have absolutely no idea what it is that you're dealing with, I'll relieve you of the virus in your possession. You really should thank me for that as well."

With a sigh of breath, Chris ignored the implication of Wesker taking the G Virus from this man because he'd been ready to inject Chris with it just to see what it would do. Wesker, at least, knew what that virus was and how to handle samples properly.

So instead of saying anything about it just then, he went over to the table where his things were settled and began to gather them up, getting the gun harnesses back around his shoulders before he tugged the strap of his shotgun over his chest. As he was working on it, he asked Wesker, "So _that's_ what you went to find out, huh?"

"Yes. The name I'd mentioned on the clipboard had my suspicions running high. Something I didn't mention to you was that Michael Forbes and Thomas Neddleson aren't quite so different from one another, and there could be a connection here to how the outbreaks all started. It seems particularly clear to me that Michael sent his brother here a small sample of the G Virus so that he could then report an anonymous tip to officials in order to create a diversion while the rest of the world was being infected."

Chris hadn't expected to hear that in particular, and he looked back at the doctor for a moment, then at Wesker, asking, "Who the hell _is_ Michael Forbes?"

"A geneticist who formerly worked for Umbrella at the underground lab in Raccoon City for a time as one of William Birkin's subordinates, and has since vanished without a trace. Not even _I_ have been able to locate him. Then again, he wasn't a huge priority, so I can't say I tried as hard as I would have otherwise."

"Who _are_ you!," the doctor suddenly asked, still in Wesker's grip and grunting in pain over it. "How do you know all of this!"

Wesker scoffed, and then he released the man with a shove, informing him as he cradled his arm and turned to look back, "I know plenty about what is important. Just as I know you were likely under the impression that your uncle is dead, and have no idea where he is located now, weren't you?"

"I...yes, I thought he died ten years ago. But he _did_ work for Umbrella. You think...he's alive?"

Wesker snorted slightly, realizing that this nephew of the man who'd worked for Birkin before would have had no idea of the kinds of projects that were undertaken at Umbrella, and his last question of his uncle's potential survival showed that he was even more ignorant than Wesker had first suspected.

After Chris had been drugged and Wesker had left him on the floor unconscious, he had inevitably found what he'd been looking for, and was somewhat surprised to learn that it was G in particular which was noted in the doctor's files. But, knowing that Michael Forbes had been working with Birkin to develop the virus, it told Wesker almost everything he needed to know about how and why the samples were here. Richard Forbes was, in fact, the sibling of the Umbrella Researcher, and that was the connection.

But the implications also told Wesker that he was going to be there for a bit longer than he wanted to be, not that he hadn't already. But the G Virus couldn't simply be left behind. If it was, anyone who knew about the samples could come back to find them, and though this told Wesker that the facility he was currently standing in would be important to look out for in the future case that someone _did_ come looking, just leaving the virus there meant it could slip into _anyone's_ hands. Even if no one had come yet who knew the virus was there already, that didn't mean that they _wouldn't_, and Wesker didn't take those sorts of chances if he could help it.

They also couldn't simply take the samples along with them on the ride to civilization for quite a few reasons. The risk factor on both ends was too high, so the only viable solution was to sterilize whatever samples were in the building. Had it been a facility with a self destruct mechanism, Wesker would have already found it and set it off. Sadly, this wasn't the case. The only thing he had at his disposal were the clean rooms in the lab that would sterilize the vial's contents. It wouldn't take too long to do, but it would take long enough.

So instead of answering this man's question about whether or not his uncle was alive and spending anymore time there than he needed to, Wesker looked at the syringe in his hand, and then at the doctor, saying simply, "All you need to know is that you won't be conducting any further experiments with this."

"I hope you're only taking it to sterilize it," Chris spoke up, having just finished putting the medicine he'd taken from the drug storage room back into the pouches on his belt at that point in time, and he turned to Wesker to add, "because we're sure as hell not taking it with us."

"I realize that, Chris. What did you think I had planned on doing with it? Infecting someone so I would have a G Type to content with as well as a Tyrant? Or allow those in Dallas to find me with it so they would believe I had planned on dispersing the G Virus in addition to causing all of the other outbreaks?"

"With you, there's no way to tell," Chris pointed out, his tone serious. "Seems like viruses make you as giddy as a kid in a toy store, so who knows what you'd do."

"How witty of you," Wesker commented drolly, his voice suggesting he wasn't amused.

As they made the exchange of words, the doctor had stepped in a bit closer and exclaimed dramatically, "Wait, you can't just—," then he stopped when he found two guns being aimed at him simultaneously—one in Wesker's hand, the other in Chris's.

"We can, and we will," Chris told him seriously, then turned a slightly curious gaze back to Wesker and asked him, "Is that what you did with the other samples?"

"Actually, I found no other samples. Only this one, but that doesn't mean that there aren't more."

Hearing that, Chris looked over at the doctor and asked him, "What's left besides this?"

The doctor pursed his lips, saying he didn't want to answer them, despite the fact that they were both holding a gun in his face. "Why should I tell you? Because you'll kill me if I don't? Then you wouldn't find them yourselves."

"What a practical idea, as one of the reasons for sterilization is to prevent you from making idiotic decisions." Wesker informed the man and pulled the hammer of his gun back.

"Alright! Alright," the doctor started, holding up his hands. "Yes, that's all there is. It was all I managed to save when the military came here and confiscated the rest."

"Was that really so hard to answer?," Wesker returned, then made a sudden movement without any warning. He surged forward and hit the man in the head with the butt of his weapon just hard enough to knock him unconscious. The doctor jolted backwards from the blow, unable to stop such a swift movement, and then fell over with a thud of sound onto the floor.

Once he was down, Wesker put his gun back into his coat and pushed his shades up the bridge of his nose before he turned without another word and walked around the corner of the broken door, stepping out of sight into the hallway beyond it.

Chris let out a sigh of breath, going to follow as he shook his head over all of this. He'd expected a ton of zombies and running his ass off, not getting tied to a gurney and facing down being infected with G of all things, then get out of it only to uncover some kind of conspiracy with a former Umbrella researcher. He'd say he didn't think the day could get any shittier, but if he did that, he'd need some wood to knock on because it'd happen.

But he had to let that go for now. Heading into the hallway outside, he realized he hadn't yet seen this area of the facility, and had no idea where they were in relation to the stairwell they'd used to reach the third floor. The hallway was slightly narrow though, doors along the walls that were unmarked and barren walls except for a line of bullet holes along one end. Aside from that, it was bereft of any kinds of furniture or items whatsoever.

Wesker wasn't too far ahead of him, and Chris caught up in due time. Once he had, he asked the man, "So what did you do after you left me to get infected with a virus?" His tone said he was both unamused and also unsurprised.

Wesker, as they walked along, smirked and replied, "Because most people are less prone to talking and much easier to follow, I followed him as he came back in not too long after you had passed out to drag you off, then left you strapped to a gurney in that room."

The fact that Wesker sounded amused over it even though he didn't think highly of the doctor who'd done this in specific didn't go unnoticed to Chris. But he let Wesker finish his explanation by adding, "Afterward, he led me right to the sample. Once he left the room containing it, I used the card to get inside and realized through his notes there that it was the G Virus. I also searched for more evidence of my suspicions."

"What suspicions?," Chris asked.

"His relation to Michael Forbes and if there was anything here that said where the geneticist was."

Taking that in, Chris inquired, "You think Forbes has something to do with all of this?"

"It would seem so, or he was at least used as a pawn for it. As I'd mentioned, Forbes worked for Birkin, and helped him with research on the G Virus. Forbes may not have done this himself however, he may actually be dead. But even if he is, anyone could know of his connection with the brother who was working here, and could have sent the sibling a sample under false pretenses, then reported it as a distraction to what was really going on."

Sounded like typical cloak and dagger bullshit to Chris. It also didn't surprise him that the doctor here had no idea what the virus he had in his possession did. The G Virus was classified after all—the public at large had never heard of it, and only a handful of people outside of the government's network, like Chris's sister, knew anything about it.

Chris's thoughts were interrupted however when Wesker told him as he headed around a corner and toward a set of double doors in the center of the corridor they were walking through on the left side, "I didn't run into anyone else while searching, but there may still be someone in hiding who'll try to stop us."

Chris had already thought as much, saying, "He already told me he wasn't alone," before he looked down the hallway just in case someone was already trying to sneak up on them. When he realized the coast was clear, he added, "I'm just surprised you didn't kill the guy."

Both of them came to a stop at the double doors, across from a singular door that led who knew where, and Wesker looked over at Chris to say, "He _is_ an idiot, and has no valuable knowledge, but that doesn't mean he's useless, and only worth killing if he forces us to."

"What do you mean by that?," Chris asked him, wondering how the guy would be useful when all they were going to do was sterilize the virus and leave the facility behind.

As Wesker reached out to the handles of the doors that led into the next chamber, he was just about to answer, but their conversation was stopped. Gunfire suddenly went off from down the hallway behind them both, the same area Chris had just looked in just a moment before, and it came from a rapid fire weapon.

The shots got both men to react by taking cover, though Wesker, who was carrying the syringe and hadn't seen it coming, was hit in the back, the shoulder, and then the arm before he could get out of the way completely. The result of the blows was to unintentionally drop the syringe he'd been holding in the hand of the same arm, which went rolling across the floor with a clatter of metal as he pushed himself down against the double doors.

Chris had ducked down toward a doorway across from them to escape the bullets whizzing through the air, and a moment came just afterward where the gunfire stopped. He would have used it to return fire, but as soon as he'd gotten his weapon aimed, the gunman began shooting again as he suddenly came running around the corner at the end of the hallway, firing while heading toward them. Because of this, Chris had no choice but to grab the lever of the door he'd just pushed himself against and tug it down. Once the knob was unlatched, he used his back to push it open, slipping quickly into the room behind himself and shutting the door because there was literally no where else for him to hide.

He had no idea what Wesker would do in the meantime, but he had to save his own skin, otherwise it wouldn't matter.

As soon as he got inside of the room and settled on the floor, the only light coming from a flickering fixture above him, a strong, foul scent hit his nose. It was the scent of death and decay, one that, no matter how many times someone had smelled it, it could still knock them off of their feet. As soon as the scent hit him and made him glad he hadn't had a full meal in a while just then, he heard a loud growling and snapping coming from behind him. The sound got Chris to turn around quickly despite the putrid aroma of the surrounding area, and aim his weapon right at a zombie ready to get to him.

As soon as he saw her, without thinking, Chris pulled the trigger and put a bullet in her head, watching her body falling back against a gurney motionlessly.

When Chris realized what she was laying on, that she was another infected person who'd been strapped to a bed, the thought occurred to him that she might've been the wife the doctor had mentioned to him earlier. She looked far more decayed than the other woman had in any case. But she was dead already, so it didn't matter one way or the other who she was precisely. As far as Chris was concerned, he did a person a favor every time he put a zombie down. No one wanted to be a walking corpse as far as he knew.

Besides, he didn't have time to think about it because just a few moments after he'd killed her, he heard more gunfire coming from the hallway very close to where he was currently crouched on the floor in the room. The sound got him to push himself back against the wall and duck down low to avoid any shots that might come through the wooden door.

The gunfire didn't last for too long however when Chris heard a loud creak of sound and then an equally loud, but more sudden crash just outside of the room he'd retreated into. Things following that got silent, extremely much so considering the action taking place thus far, and Chris looked over at the door from where he'd taken cover against the wall, quietly listening for a moment before warily pushing himself back up.

Reaching over to the door knob, he heard a loud buzz suddenly sounding on the other side of it, which stopped him briefly. Realizing it was some kind of electrical surge, he turned the lever down and pulled the door open to only a cracked width, looking outside quietly. The hallway beyond was much darker than it had been before, and the reason why was very evident. A good chunk of the ceiling was on the floor now, being held in place further by a part of a metal vent shaft that had been housed above, but had somehow fallen through.

The last thing Chris noticed was the upper half of a man's body laying on the tiled floor beneath that rubble, and he had a good bit of blood staining the side of his face. The machine gun he'd been holding onto was laying just out of his reach, and Chris looked from him as he stood up and in the other direction to see that Wesker had apparently pushed himself out of the way of the crumbling roof before it could fall on him.

Stepping out of the room, Chris inquired, "What the hell just happened?"

"The man rushed for the syringe after a shot fired caused me to drop it, and I retaliated. When I did, he fired off his weapon into the roof in surprise and apparently hit a portion of the shaft above us, which caused it to collapse."

Chris looked back down at the man, considering the story and the events he hadn't been able to witness, then had a thought. Somewhat hesitantly, he asked, "Don't tell me he still had the syringe when the roof fell on him."

"He did. I was recovering from bullet wounds, taking cover like you were, so I wasn't quite as swift as I could have been otherwise."

Why did Chris suddenly get the feeling, as Wesker said this, that the gunman might've accidentally injected himself just now? The syringe was uncapped after all, and it could've stuck him easily. Instead of asking it aloud, Chris merely said to Wesker, "Let me guess."

"It could be likely," Wesker responded, knowing exactly what Chris was implying.

"Ahhh," came a low groan from the man after their exchange under the buzzing light fixtures, who'd just tried to push himself up, but the weight of the ventilation shaft wasn't quite letting him free himself. Chris took aim warily when he'd moved, watching the man with narrowed brows and clenched teeth as he stepped around him, kicking the machine gun further to the side with his foot, coming to stand ahead of him.

Gun still aimed, Chris looked everywhere on the floor, then announced, "I don't see the syringe, unless he's just laying on it," and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he heard someone asking another person's name from behind, making him look back.

"Stan?," came the voice from down the hallway. "Stan, I told you to stay in the office. What are you..."

The doctor that Wesker had knocked unconscious earlier was awake now, though he was a little wobbly in his footsteps toward the scene, blood staining the side of his face from where he'd been hit. But he trailed to a stop when he saw the debris on the floor and the man laying beneath it, a look coming onto his face as if he were both worried and shocked.

About five feet from where Stan was laying, he stopped, then looked at Chris and asked, "What the hell did you do to him?"

"He did this to himself trying to get that sample back," Chris replied firmly, and he would've said something more, but they both heard Stan suddenly speaking.

"Ad...Adam...it hurts...I feel like...," he choked and grunted, spittle coming out of his mouth as he rasped the words, "I feel like I'm on fire."

Hearing this, Wesker looked over to where Chris stood on the other side of the debris and he addressed the doctor sternly to get his complete attention. "Forbes, are you related to this man by blood?"

Adam Forbes, which was the doctor's name apparently, stared for a moment and then shook his head. "No, he's not family or—,"

Wesker didn't let him continue, only announcing, "Good, then he won't use you as a breeding tool, and I don't have to kill you right at this moment. Chris, the change has started, so now would be the best time to get the hell out of Dodge as the saying goes."

"Goddamn it," Chris cussed in realizing this guy was going to mutate, but he wasn't just standing around idly. Instead, he looked back at Adam and told him, "You need to go, now!"

Adam just pushed Chris to the side and knelt down to Stan, and when he did, Chris knew there would be no point trying to argue with him. The guy was already hellbent on fulfilling some promise he made to his father despite Chris's earlier warnings, which meant he was also hellbent on getting himself killed. So Chris just went to move through the doors behind Wesker who had already started to get out of there, and let Adam find out what he'd wanted to know all along about the G Virus.

Wesker was up ahead by a good ways, and Chris lost sight of him for a moment, but he took the same corner and found Wesker opening a door on the other side. Beyond it was a hall that led into the office area where they'd originally come up from the stairwell, and as Chris managed to get closer in, he asked, "How long before he turns and goes on a killing rampage?"

"It depends, but long enough to allow us to get out of reach, which is all that matters."

Chris saved his breath following that line instead of commenting, and continued to move toward the stairwell door to go back down to the first floor. Neither of them stopped moving, though they took care to keep their eyes open while getting out of there at a good pace once inside of the green lit chamber of the stairwell.

They both found themselves in the lobby after a short time, arriving back at the front entryway, and they each pushed open a different door for themselves in order to exit. Outside, it was raining much harder than it had been, but neither man cared, stepping out into the pouring rain quietly with nothing around them.

"You think he'll follow us?," Chris asked once they were outside. He knew what G Types did, but he'd never encountered one personally. So while he didn't think it would necessarily follow them unless it was already onto them, he wanted to see what kinds of information Wesker might divulge on it.

"They are predatory, but it's unlikely to do so if it doesn't spot us, which it hasn't," Wesker replied as they moved through the rain. Getting fairly soaked, he looked over to see Chris checking his handgun out of habit, and asked him, "So tell me, was that _really_ worth the effort for you, Chris?"

Chris didn't even look at him. He wasn't going to give the asshole a response over the matter, and there was no use in it anyway. The two of them would never see eye to eye on anything, so why bother? Instead of wasting any energy commenting, he just continued heading through the lot, ready to get back to the hummer and leave.

That was, until he heard something specific coming from behind, which got Wesker's attention as well. Coming to a stop, the both of them letting out a sigh and a groan conversely, they both looked back to see what was going on _now_.

When they did, they saw a car being hauled up and into the air behind them, turning around to face it completely, and only when the vehicle was up high enough did they see what was lifting it—not that they had to guess at it anyway.

"You had to ask that _now_, didn't you, Wesker?"

Things, as it turned out, had yet to become chaotic. The tyrant chasing Wesker down had just caught up to them, proving that the situation was about to _really_ get interesting.


	35. Confrontation

_Chapter 34 - Confrontation_

_ December, 5__th__, 2007_

_ Outside of Amarillo, Texas_

Zombies, experiments, doctors driven mad with grief, the G Virus, a G Type on the loose, and now the Tyrant.

This day just couldn't get any damned _better_.

As a car of all things suddenly flew through the air toward them, Chris and Wesker both moved in differing directions to evade it quickly. They were already in what some people might refer to as 'fight mode' because of everything they'd gone through so far that morning, so having a car thrown at them wasn't completely shocking to a point that it dulled their senses. It _definitely_ wasn't a typical situation or a tactic that was used against them everyday, but with what had happened so far, the shock value was indeed dulled.

So Chris and Wesker wasted no time trying to evade the car once it had become airborne.

It was a red sedan that the tyrant had decided to use as a game ball, and the car went downwards after it was thrown, landing on the concrete where the two men had just been standing with a loud crash of metal and the windshield shattering with broken glass flying everywhere around it. It landed on the passenger's side, tilting just a bit before it settled down completely still, splashing up the rain pouring from the clouds overhead that was making water roll across the parking lot in miniature rivers beneath it.

Chris had moved toward his right and jumped to avoid being crushed under the hurtled object, rolling over into a crouch and stopping nearby another car that wasn't too far from where he'd once been standing. He looked up from his crouch quickly and at the ruined vehicle the tyrant had thrown at them across the way, watching as it wobbled just a bit before settling still. From there, Chris glanced right to see that the hulking tyrant was already moving toward the red sedan—and he was moving pretty swiftly with heavy footfalls against the pavement that made water splash up around him.

There was no time to stop it. From the looks of it, the tyrant had started to move even before the car had landed, and Chris looked in the other direction to see that Wesker had flipped backwards in order to avoid being crushed. The evasion had put him several feet back away from the currently stationary vehicle which the tyrant was now heading toward, telling Chris this wasn't going to be a good thing.

Wesker stood up from where he'd landed as the tyrant reached the sedan he'd thrown only a few moments beforehand, and without pause, the large monster smashed two large fists into the bottom of the vehicle. The force of the blow was enough to send it flying across the pavement through the pouring rain, swiftly heading right toward Wesker without mercy.

By the time Wesker had looked up to see it, the sedan was already only a few feet from hitting him, giving him barely any time to brace himself. If he'd had a moment longer otherwise, he would've been able to put enough force into his stance that he could've broken the car in half whenever it hit him, but this was too soon to muster that kind of strength.

Chris heard the impact as the twice hurtled car hit, and Wesker's grunt when he was rammed into by the object. Though Wesker hadn't managed to put a great deal of muscle into bracing himself, he'd managed to use enough that instead of being completely bowled over and crushed, he was knocked backwards, flying through the air with the car hurtling above him for only a moment before gravity tugged him downward. His body hit the pavement hard and went sliding across it with the sedan careening just overhead.

It flew for only a few more feet across Wesker's body before landing a bit farther back behind him instead of on him. When it met the concrete for the second time, the red sedan began rolling over violently, flipping a few times before it finally crashed down onto its roof, completely crushing it without remorse.

Seeing that Wesker hadn't actually been crushed by the lump of metal that used to resemble something drivable, Chris pushed himself up from where he'd crouched while the tyrant neared the currently downed man. As much as Chris would rather see Wesker get beaten to death by this thing for previous transgressions—it would be akin to poetic justice after all—he also knew he was going to need _someone's_ help if he was going to survive this fight. Taking a tyrant out alone might not be impossible, but there also was more riding on this than simply needing help in defeating the damned thing as well. Wesker still had information Chris wanted.

So Chris didn't hesitate and took his part in the fight—shotgun in hand, he aimed and fired it at the tyrant once, then pumped the barrel and fired again.

The blasts flew through the air, the spread of the shells Chris was firing ramming into the tyrant's back, left side, tearing through the clothing the creature wore with splatters of dark blood flying out of the newly made wounds. Though the tyrant didn't react by jolting as a normal person would with each hit, they got the creature's attention anyway, especially considering there wasn't too much distance between them, so the blasts were close range.

But there was enough that Chris could detect any potential attacks the creature might make and give him enough time to evade them. Surely enough, after two blasts into his back, the tyrant turned around and began to move toward his new attacker without question. Its booted feet slammed into the wet pavement and through a few puddles of water while it lifted a large fist in attack, intending on crushing the mere human it was going after now.

Chris waited until the last second as it got closer quickly, then moved and jumped out of the way. Right behind him, the fist the tyrant had swung ended up slamming into the car directly behind where Chris had once stood, denting the metal of the door inwards and breaking the window out of it completely.

Chris slowed down in his evasion of a blow that would've surely killed him, if not crippled him to the point of dying a slow death in the world at large now, and he spun around to take aim at the tyrant again. He got off another shot again and pumped the barrel, then had to cease fire because he heard his name being called by Wesker. The sound got him to look to the side to see his now recovered companion on his feet again, moving past swiftly before the tyrant could turn around to face either of them.

Wesker didn't waste any time after he'd managed to stand back up from being knocked over with a car, though he'd gotten his fair share of pain from the blow that had been delivered and even had a currently healing gash in his forehead now that might've killed a lesser man. Still, he pushed on, ignoring it while keeping the knowledge in mind that his body would rejuvenate quickly, and moved in behind the tyrant in the creature's distraction with Chris.

Using his speed in his approach, he met the tyrant's back by extending his arm and slamming his hand into it's flesh without remorse, a blow which penetrated and caused blood to spurt up everywhere, including onto Wesker.

The red beads splattered out so hard from the blow that a good bit even marred Wesker's face, rain washing over him causing those dark red blots to trail downwards as he glared at his enemy with glowing amber eyes and slitted pupils—he'd lost his shades when he'd been knocked over by the car. But that was inconsequential now, and Wesker forced his hand as deeply into the creature's body as it would go.

Despite the hard blow however, no sound came out of the hulking monster. Instead, the large bioweapon only stood up with Wesker's appendage still lodged within his torso, and then swiped an arm backwards as if to grab at the man.

The movement got Wesker to duck out of the way and dislodge his arm from his back completely before he could do the tyrant any further damage, and also before the tyrant could get at him. He rolled to the side and came to a swift stop not too far away, then pulled out his handgun and aimed.

Out of range now of any gunfire that his current companion could have used on the thing, Chris opened fire again after watching the display as well, the two of them taking as many shots as they could in the time frame they currently had while the tyrant turned around to face them both.

Holes were being torn into the black suiting it wore beneath a long coat used to give the bioweapon a more humanistic appearance—and possibly for a little added protection as well—but it ignored nearly every shot while it began to head toward them as if completely unaffected by their weapons. The men parted directions as they drew back out of the way, and their enemy began heading in Wesker's direction in specific when that happened since Wesker was apparently the primary target.

Chris stepped around to the side and back to keep his distance, taking another shot with his weapon after pumping the barrel as he saw Wesker preparing for more close quarters combat. Keeping his eyes open while this went on, he watched the tyrant almost reaching the blonde, which would cut off his ability to fire for the moment, and in the meantime got him formulating ideas for more defensive tactics since Chris knew that he was the weakest one in this fight physically.

Before he could get much of anything in mind however, the tyrant decided to change targets without warning.

Suddenly, the monster turned around and moved in toward Chris swiftly, a hand reaching out and grabbing him by the throat to lift him into the air as if he weighed absolutely nothing. It happened more quickly than anyone would've really thought the large creature would've been able to move, and Chris felt the oversized fist suddenly closing around his throat so tightly that he couldn't catch his breath as he feet left the ground. Reaching up, he latched his hand onto the monster's wrist as his throat was being clutched so tightly, finding himself staring into it's lifeless, black eyes.

This tyrant had a very humanistic face, ashen colored skin and a hairless head with a surgical scar directly across the cranium as Wesker had mentioned before. But it made no expression as it lifted Chris, didn't seem to draw any kind of pleasure from killing or from even existing—it was merely cold and indifferent as it held a struggling human life in its hands so easily.

Chris didn't waste time though. He reacted to the threat by grabbing the knife on the left side of his shoulder strap before this thing could literally squeeze his head from his shoulders, and stabbed it down into the tyrant's wrist so deeply that the tip protruded from the other side.

The attack would keep the tyrant from squeezing his throat to the point of killing him, and Chris did, in fact, feel the grip lessening. But as he jerked the blade back out, and before he could stab it again, the tyrant turned, lowering its arm just a bit before swinging it around high, flinging Chris out like he were nothing.

The movement was so hard that Chris's shotgun came off of his chest, falling to the ground below as he went forcefully flying through the air. He landed on the hood of a car about fifteen feet away only a moment later, his body smashing into the windshield on impact hard enough to crack the glass into intricately lined webs that barely stayed together beneath his back and left side. Simultaneously, the corner of his head above his left eye hit into the metal rail that connected the roof to the hood.

Chris let out a grunt with the force of the blow and the pain that wracked his entire body when this happened, the world going spinning around him and growing dark for a moment as he felt himself go limp without choice. Rains poured down around him, laying lifelessly across the hood, blood dripping down from the new wound over his eyebrow, and it also began lining the little cracks of the windshield at his back, turning them red slowly but surely.

Some beaded up through those cracks and dripped inside of the car onto the dashboard, while the wound on his head got the crimson traveling through the rainwater on his face, dotting onto the side of the windshield in rivulets traveling down across the glass, inevitably onto the white painted hood of the car where it mixed with tiny puddles in swirling pinkish tints.

Finally, Chris turned his head slowly and let a slight groan out, then tried to push himself up, fighting to get a grip on reality again, knowing he was vulnerable to further damage in this state. But he could hear more gunfire going off in the near distance as Wesker was apparently engaging the tyrant once again and keeping its attention. Even still, Chris fought to clear his vision, shaking his head while reaching for the side of the hood in order to pull his body away from the broken windshield without sliding across it in case it broke and cut him much worse.

As he managed to roll over onto his stomach finally, he let a sudden grunt when a pain streaked through his torso from the side of his back as he pulled himself so far away from it. Looking down, trying to see where it was coming from, and knowing he'd hit that side of his body hard when he'd landed, he caught the sight of blood beginning to stain the front of the gray shirt he was wearing, telling him that he had some kind of injury on the left side of his back where he could feel a stinging pain.

Likely, he'd sliced himself open on the newly broken windshield, but that pain was dulling now into nothing more than an ache, and at the moment, Chris couldn't concentrate on any pain he was feeling to begin with. Instead, he fought to focus on the fight, looking up to see Wesker moving around the tyrant too fast to keep track of, almost making him think he was still out of it at first, but that was just Wesker using his speed to evade and land his own blows to his enemy.

When he saw this, Chris suddenly remembered the grenades he'd taken with them before he'd left the RV—the ones he'd put into the pouch on his belt—and realized he had a good chance to use them now. Without question, he reached for one and pulled it out.

He was about to yell a warning, but he'd looked up in time to see Wesker nearly being smashed into the pavement by the tyrant's fist, so the man _had_ to get out of the way. He did so far enough as chunks of cement were knocked up behind him that Chris took his shot before anything more could happen.

Pulling the pin of the grenade out with his thumb, Chris called the basic warning, "Frag out!" before he reached out his right arm and chucked the explosive outwards, but not high through the air. He knew the tyrant might turn and smack it back toward him with his hand if he did it like that. So instead, he threw it more in the manner of skipping rocks across a pond—by extending his arm out and to the side so that it approached the tyrant at a low angle—before he pushed himself backwards off of the car in order to take cover behind it.

The grenade flew right toward the tyrant, nearly skidding across the wet pavement of the parking lot before it reached not too far from the creature's booted feet and hit the surface. Wesker heard Chris's warning and he looked up from where he'd ducked away from the blow in order to see this happening, waiting for the inevitable explosion to take place. He hadn't known beforehand that Chris had brought any of the grenades along from the vest he'd acquired in Santa Rosa, but he could say for certain that he was glad for it now.

The vibrations as the grenade went off shook the surrounding area, and Chris crouched low for cover behind the car he'd been thrown into until it was over. After the blast had sounded, he looked back up over the hood to realize that the giant had been knocked onto its knees momentarily, dazed and further damaged by the explosion. As Chris took the sight in, considering his next plan of action to take while remembering that his shotgun had fallen from his body, he noticed something that might come in handy not too far away from the side of the lot they'd wound up fighting on.

Backing up from the car, Chris looked around, and then made as quick of a run for it while staying out of sight as he possibly could.

Wesker took advantage of the creature's currently downed state however, and he moved in swiftly to repeat a previous attack which was to stab into the monster with his hand. But this time, he stabbed it into the tyrant's chest, searching for it's heart which could cause it some serious damage. He moved so fast that it looked like he'd done next to nothing when his hand was impaled inside of the creature's body once more, blood spurting everywhere as he searched out the beating organ against his palm, sneering down at the tyrant while forcing his hand inside of its chest cavity as hard as he could.

Even Wesker wasn't in top condition just then however. His time in the facility and now fighting this monster had worn on him—but he was no where near weak, and fought to get as tight of a grasp as he could without faltering. The creature was now coming to however, and pushing itself back up to stand, though doing so very slowly now. Still, it managed to get onto a single knee, when it suddenly reached up and grabbed Wesker's throat.

His eyes glowing, Wesker sneered down at the oversized bioweapon, fighting against the strength the tyrant displayed as it grasped his neck in the same hand that Chris had stabbed his knife into the wrist of early, all while pushing his arm into the monster further with a loud grunt of effort. That was when he felt exactly what he needed to—a pulsing muscle thumping against his hand—and he slipped his fingers around it.

Almost getting enough of a hold on the organ to crush it in his palm, the tyrant made an unexpected move.

On the belt it wore beneath the long coat was a weapon, and the hulking enemy pulled it out to turn against Wesker. It didn't hesitate to pull the trigger against the man's torso once it had the weapon out either, and Wesker felt a sharp sting of pain as soon as it did. He didn't have the time to consider everything when it happened, he simply reacted and jerked his hand back out of the monster's chest cavity before he grabbed a dart that had pierced into his body to tug it out as quickly as possible.

The creature let go of his throat when he did so, which also wasn't expected, so when Wesker had jerked away to free himself and met no resistance, he stumbled backwards. He was unsure what the dart carried precisely, but if he had to guess, he would say likely some kind of powerful sedative—yet another reason he'd believed the tyrant wasn't trying to _kill_ him in specific. He could only hope he'd pulled it out before the contents could fully sink into his system as well, or hope that whoever had loaded the weapon initially didn't know how much it would take in order to knock him out—which was, generally speaking, a good deal.

But the thing that surprised Wesker the most about the whole incident as he'd stumbled back wasn't that he'd been shot with a sedative. Instead, it was the fact that he remembered seeing this tyrant with this same device before he'd even run into Cecilia on the road. The first time it had tried to use the gun on Wesker, the tyrant missed, and Wesker had escaped. Not only that however, but Wesker had also managed to _destroy_ the weapon with a well placed shot of his handgun. He could clearly remember seeing it breaking apart in his head now, depriving the tyrant of one of its tools.

So how had the creature gotten a second? Was someone servicing the tyrant? Perhaps coming along from time to time in order to reload it's ammunition and supplies, or even leaving it things here and there to be collected along the way? That seemed fairly impossible considering the way things were now.

But those thoughts suddenly didn't matter when a strong wave of dizziness overcame Wesker's senses. His vision began to go blurry as he stumbled and went down to a knee, and when he tried to keep himself focused on his enemy—who was approaching him almost casually now as if it knew it would get no resistance from its quarry in only a few moments—Wesker could see two of them heading for him instead of one. He was too lethargic to do much of anything about it in that moment as well, fighting beneath the rain pouring down over the scene to keep a grip on reality and consciousness intact.

But as the creature moved, there was little to no warning when the long arm of a bulldozer suddenly swung around through the scene taking place. The claw at the end of the arm slammed right into the large monster who was just about to accomplish its mission of apprehending Wesker finally, and knocked the tyrant to the side several feet away across the lot.

Chris, settled in the seat of the bulldozer he'd spotted before they'd even gone inside of the medical facility, had extended the arm around and used it to hopefully get the tyrant knocked a little further down than it had previously been.

As the creature flew to the side and began to slide across the pavement on impact with it, Chris watched it landing between a few cars that were settled along the lot, and he got another idea. Reaching down, he put his hand onto the lever that would get the bulldozer into gear and drive it forward, then grabbed the wheel and turned it. The front blade of the bulldozer began to approach the cars the tyrant had landed between, inevitably meeting and pushing those cars to slide across the pavement, then crunch metal into one another.

Chris punched the gas of the vehicle as hard as he could, the rains streaking across the windshield in front of him as he made a huge clump of metal in the parking lot to catch the tyrant between them. Hell, if he could, he'd just run the damned thing over with the bulldozer itself, it just depended on _when_ the tyrant decided to try to stand back up again.

But as fate had it, the tyrant was standing up from the blow as the cars were being pushed in on him, recovering from the smack of the large metal arm the bulldozer possessed, though it was obvious that its left arm was broken just by looking at it. Before it could get a chance to recover though, the cars Chris was piling up on it suddenly pressed into him. The tyrant turned, but found itself being shoved along steadily until it was crushed into a truck behind it, locking its broken arm into place against its body while it grabbed the roof of the car in front of it with the other in a futile manner.

Seeing this from behind the glass of the bulldozer, Chris continued to push forward until he had the tyrant caught where it couldn't escape _too_ quickly between the cars, and finally stopped the heavy-duty vehicle where it was now located in the lot.

That's when he grabbed the handle that controlled the clawed arm, turning and bringing it up into the air above the now trapped monster.

"Let's see how sturdy your head is," he muttered just as he punched the lever forward in his hand.

Outside, the claw dropped downwards swiftly toward the tyrant. It crashed into the bioweapon without remorse, right onto its head with a loud crunch of sound as it also hit the cars around it, and Chris didn't stop there either. He mercilessly pulled the handle back, revealing a bloody lump of shoulders and what had once been a head that was now grotesquely mashed in, then pushed it down a second time, dropping the arm outside into the tyrant's cranium once more just to give it good measure.

Blood splattered onto the hood of the car that had held the monster into place with the first blow, and on the second, even more spurted out across the silver paint job along with a few chunks of gore.

The claw came to rest over it, and the one, free arm of the tyrant began to slip away from the opposing edge of the vehicle's roof it had been holding onto, limply falling down to the side where it began to rest idly.

Finally, the son of a bitch had been taken out of the picture. Chris let out a deep breath and his shoulders slumped when he realized this. "Good riddance," he grumbled out.

With the knowledge that the thing had been eliminated now, he turned and pushed himself out of the bulldozer, a hand going to his still bleeding side as he worked his way down and looked over to see Wesker nearby, who was settled in a crouch in the rain.

Walking over to him and stopping on the way to grab his shotgun which he realized he'd nearly crushed beneath the bulldozer only a few moments beforehand, then grunting as he pushed himself back up straight, Chris asked Wesker's name and turned to face him.

Walking over, he asked, "What'd it do to you?"

"Tried to sedate me again," Wesker replied, pushing himself up to his feet slowly.

That was the moment that Chris had noticed a dart laying not too far away from Wesker on the ground, and he looked back at the man and asked him, "You're not gonna pass out now, are you? We're in a bad place."

"I think I'll manage," Wesker returned, though in all honesty, he wasn't entirely certain of that. He took a breath in the effort of trying to however, everything a bit warbled in his line of sight, but he looked over at the cars now piled up, seeing the splattering of blood across the roof of one beneath the claw of a bulldozer which Chris had used to crush the tyrant's skull.

"Hmm," he drew out, then shook his head with a brief bit of dizziness. "A novel idea."

"Yeah, I'll have to try that trick on you sometime," Chris muttered out before he turned around to start walking, wanting to get back to the hummer before anything else could happen to them.

All Chris could think in that moment however was that he hated when a fight ended because somehow, saying he'd gotten hurt during it, the pain always seemed to be worse afterward without anything to distract him from it. His back was stinging, his head was aching, and his side was throbbing. He'd had worse, but that didn't make the pain he felt now any better.

Just when he'd considered it, he heard a thud behind him. Chris slowly stopped as he looked back when the sound hit his ears, and then downward at the wet pavement. When he did, he saw that Wesker had just fallen over, laying at the side of the lot completely motionless.

Turning around to face him fully, Chris waved the hand he still held his shotgun in and said, "Wesker, if you're actually unconscious, I'm going to shoot you with this."

No response. Chris let out a low sigh of breath. This wasn't happening. No, this just wasn't fucking happening. Wesker wasn't passed out from being sedated in a parking lot where anything could come along and try to kill them—and likely _would_.

"Considering what happened earlier," Chris started, "if you _are_ unconscious, I'm going to leave your ass right here, you know that, don't you?"

Wesker still wasn't moving however. Chris lowered his head and raised his hand up, rubbing his eyes with a sigh that started off quietly, but got louder and more agitated as it was completely exhaled. Then he looked back up and walked over to Wesker. He didn't bend down or show any concern, only shoved his foot into the man's shoulder and pushed him over onto his back. When he did, and Wesker just rolled over without moving by himself at all, Chris closed his eyes briefly for patience, then looked around at the rain falling and the flat lands surrounding them. From there, he glanced back down the road in the direction that the RV was parked in.

He could barely see the damned thing from there, and seeing his destination now, his ticket out of that place with Wesker passed out on the pavement at his feet, was nearly the equivalent to him of a kick in the nuts.

He wasn't going to have to drag Wesker back was he? The mere thought of it made him want to shoot himself. He should just blow the asshole's head off right now, and he gripped his shotgun more tightly, very tempted to do just that. But he had to let that go. He had to remember that there was more riding on this than just his vendetta, and with a sigh of breath, he resigned himself to the inevitable.

Besides, he _wasn't_ Wesker. Truly enough, Wesker hadn't shot _him_ when he'd been sedated earlier that day, but if things had been equal, Wesker _would_ have.

_On second thought_, Chris considered, _fuck the heroics_. He just wouldn't shoot Wesker now because of what the man knew about Jill, and anything else he might be able to give about how and why the outbreaks had started. With the resolution in mind, he took a step toward Wesker and then stopped. Without flinching, he stood up straight and aimed his shotgun in a particular direction when a sound hit his ears.

It was the sound of shattering glass and a loud crash following it, but it hadn't come from anywhere too close by. Chris looked in the direction it had come from, and that was at the medical facility he was still standing in the lot of, though he wasn't too far away from the access road that led to the lot, so he was a good distance from the actual building itself. Still, his senses began tripping all over the place because, following the sound, he heard absolutely _nothing_.

There was simply no sound following the crash except for the falling rain pattering down around Chris now, standing there alone with his shotgun aimed at the edge of the parking lot. The ensuing silence was more offsetting than the thought of what could have made the noise to begin with.

But Chris remembered that there was a G Type still lurking about, and they were completely unprepared to handle it. At current, he didn't see anything moving, nothing on the sides of the building, and nothing was in the lot, but he'd just gotten the feeling that the monster had broken through the windows and was now roaming about the outside world somewhere that, given the right place and right time, it could spot either of them easily.

What in the hell was he supposed to do now? If that thing saw him, it wouldn't hesitate to come after him, and currently, he had very little to hide behind. Also, he couldn't risk leading it back to the hummer. He knew the damned thing could likely catch up to them even if they were traveling saying it got enough of a start to—and that was also saying that Chris could make it to the hummer before it managed to stop him from running for it by himself.

G Types tended to have a good bit of speed in that fashion, even more than a tyrant, who's speed was sudden and seemed to come in brief bursts. Chris had learned this not only from debriefings, but also from his sister's personal experiences.

Lastly, to make escape even harder, Wesker was currently incapacitated, so it was just Chris against a powerful, blood thirsty monster which he had no idea the current location of.

Had things been looking down before? Chris didn't even want to think about it.

But something caught his attention in that moment, and considering the situation, he took the chance without question rather than continuing to stand out in the open idly. Leaning down, Chris grabbed Wesker by the front of his black button down shirt in his gloved fist, and began to drag him with one arm toward the side of the lot not too far from where the bulldozer was settled, gripping his shotgun in the other hand incase something happened.

A set of dumpsters were sitting at the edge of the lot in a line, one green and one blue, and when Chris reached them, he turned and lifted his arm to slide open the side door of the first one he'd reached. Inside, from what he could see, were broken down cardboard boxes, not bags of trash. Even though some part of him would've rather it been trash under normal circumstances, Chris reached down for Wesker and grunted as he lifted the man up.

It took him a little doing, but Chris managed to get the unconscious man into the side door, then pushed his currently lifeless body through the window.

Once Wesker had fallen into the dumpster with a thud, Chris shut the door on him, and no sooner than he did, he heard a loud, but distant growl. He wasted no time when the sound reached his ears and worked his way around to the other side of the dumpster that faced away from the building completely before pushing his back up against it quietly.

More silence ensued except for the pattering of rain, now growing a bit lighter around the area. Slowly, in response to the silence, Chris turned and peered around the side corner, looking to see if he couldn't spot the G Type anywhere, but there was nothing in that direction except the same parking lot he and Wesker had just fought the tyrant in and the medical facility beyond it.

So Chris turned and worked his way to the other side of the two dumpsters and looked back from that angle. Still, there was nothing, just the plains that stretched out from the left side of the medical facility, leading in a direction that moved away from the hummer completely. He let a soft sigh of breath in response to the uncertainty he was feeling. Where the hell was it!

If he could find it, he'd know how much of a chance he had, and no sooner than he'd had the thought, Chris caught motion out of the corner of his eyes. It drew his gaze, and he finally spotted what he was looking for a good ways off in the distance.

Currently, it was turned from him, walking from the building toward the empty field next to it with the rains still washing down over everything around them. It went so far in one direction, then stopped and began to stand there idly, completely unmoving almost. Chris could make out the enlarged shoulder where the huge eyeball was located as he watched it, and the sight of the ocular organ as the tyrant was turning made him stand back and out of sight.

The damned thing might spot him with it after all, though he was unsure how good the vision in that eye was supposed to be. He _did_ know that the eye worked from reports however, and more so, from the things his little sister had told him. Claire's accounts were definitely coming in handy now.

If it spotted him though, it would be yet another tyrant they would have to fight down, and Chris also knew that killing it would only make it mutate into something else, unlike the one they'd just fought. Not to mention ammunition was getting low now, and Chris could only wonder if Wesker was out of bullets completely or not. He'd lasted longer on two feet against that tyrant than Chris had after all, so Chris wouldn't be surprised to learn that Wesker was on his last few shots at the very most.

What they needed now was an explosion of some type. A _big_ one.

But they didn't have anything that would work in that manner. He'd just have to make due with what he _did_ have, which was little ammo and wit—why it always came down to that, Chris wasn't entirely sure. Still, with a sigh of breath, he slowly peered back around the corner, and saw that the G Type was still standing in the same place and hadn't yet moved.

The only good thing about this was the fact that the monster was on a side of the building currently facing _away_ from the hummer, so it was less likely to get any visual whenever Chris made his run for it. It gave him a chance, and he had no choice but to take it now while he knew where the monster was and could possibly make it without being detected.

Without further hesitation, he turned and moved to the opposing side of the dumpster quickly. He also only had one choice involving Wesker in that moment, and considering what had happened earlier, he didn't feel badly about it at all. So he slipped the door of the dumpster open again and pulled his radio off of his belt, then threw it into the large container with Wesker before shutting the door quietly after he saw it landing on the man's chest.

Following that, he began to make his silent run for it, leaving Wesker behind. Now, whenever the man woke up, he'd have a way to contact them at least. Chris didn't intend to just drive away without him after all, not unless he had no choice.

He only hoped that nothing else popped up on the way to the hummer. After the way everything else had gone that day however, Chris wasn't so sure _what_ might happen.


	36. Anxiety

_Chapter 35 - Anxiety_

_ December 5__th__, 2007_

_ Dallas, Texas_

_ 9:57 PM_

"There's just no sign of them."

Cecilia was in the hatch that led up onto the roof of the RV when she'd announced those words to Regan below, who'd come by to check on any updates. Though it was raining out, she had Regan's rifle set up and was currently standing on the retractable ladder that accessed the hatch a little less than halfway outside, keeping her head low and using the scope to check out the medical facility where Chris and Wesker had gone in the distance. With the device zoomed in, she could see the lot in the same way she could see it if she were standing on the other end of the access road. It was distant, but she could see well enough to be able to tell whenever they left the place.

Before then, Cecilia had waited inside with Regan for a while, gotten something to eat, and watched the mother caring for her sick daughter before Shannon finally fell asleep. Not long later, Regan had come into the living room area and mentioned to Cecilia that it had simply been too long since they'd heard anything and that she was starting to get worried. Cecilia was inclined to agree, but there wasn't anything either of them could do without potentially jeopardizing either Chris and Wesker, or Shannon—if not all three at once.

Cecilia could go in after them alone, but Regan really did need the help with making sure everything was safe because her eyes had to be focused on her ailing daughter so much. While Shannon wasn't what someone might call deathly ill, she was coughing quite a bit and it was obvious she wasn't doing very well. Not to mention, if the sickness wasn't taken care of, it could turn into a deathly illness pretty fast. So Cecilia didn't want to leave them out in the open like that, and besides, she realized that if she went in to try to help out the men traveling with them, she might upset an already bad or delicate situation—saying Chris and Wesker were in that kind of trouble.

Regan had an idea though, and she quietly began to pull the ladder down from the hatch that lead up onto the roof so she wouldn't wake Shannon. With her rifle, she climbed up and settled the weapon so that she could use the scope, and told Cecilia it would be a good idea to have it as a look out. Cecilia agreed, but told Regan to let her take the reigns because if Shannon woke, Regan would need to go look after her.

Once she'd taken over, Cecilia realized that she could see the lot of the medical facility through the scope of the weapon fairly easily, and she announced after a short while of watching it that she just didn't see _anything_. Every once and again, she would pan around and make certain nothing else was sneaking up on them, lift her head to see the same thing with her own two eyes, and eventually, she allowed Regan to climb up and take a look for a bit as well.

When they switched, Cecilia took some time to warm up from the cold, wet air, and then she heard Regan taking a silent shot with her weapon a moment later, which surprised her. Regan informed the woman that there was a single roaming zombie out in the fields heading in the direction of the medical facility. So she'd sniped it quietly to help keep the area clear of problems. She'd then looked around to make sure nothing else was coming before focusing her sights on the facility again.

Eventually, Cecilia took over once more, and Regan went to go use the bathroom and checked on Shannon, who was still sleeping—thankfully. She was rasping in her breaths a slight bit however, and knowing what her daughter could sleep through, Regan lifted her head gently by easing her fingers beneath her daughter's head and raised the pillow a bit more behind her, then laid her back down against it. Once a little more upright, the raspy breathing grew clearer, which would probably let Shannon sleep longer without coughing herself awake.

Regan didn't risk waking her by kissing her cheek, and just smiled and stood up straight, then turned and wandered over to the sectional in the living area of the RV. Once she'd sat down, she reached over and cracked open the window while tugging out the cigarettes she'd grabbed on the way so she could light one due to the anxious way she felt.

Once she had the lit cigarette in her lips, Regan put the lighter down and rested her elbows on the table after plucking the item from her mouth with her index and middle fingers. She then covered her eyes with her hand as she considered just how long they'd been waiting there, smoke wafting in the air around her while she rubbed her fingers into her closed lids and took a few slow, deep breaths.

She couldn't help her anxious state of being at that moment, after all. What if they were dead or hurt? Regan had to push the thought away before it drove her crazy, sticking the end of the cigarette into her mouth to take another drag with the effort, the activity helping to distract her.

She glanced at the cigarette once she'd tugged it from her lips as well, and considered that now that she knew Dallas was actually quarantined still, she was going to have to quit smoking a second time. That wouldn't be much of a problem for her though considering she hadn't smoked for very long when she first started and then quit. She just knew that if she had a chance at a longer life, and one for her daughter as well, there was no sense in killing herself prematurely.

But for now, quitting was the last thing she was worried about. She could get to Dallas first, then stop. Instead, her mind went back to her worries when her eyes caught sight of the clock over the stove in the kitchen, which now read 9:34. It had been an hour and a half, and that was taking just a bit longer than it should have just to grab some medicine.

Regan was even more concerned about the current raid than she normally would've been as well, and more than Cecilia was, because _she_ was the reason they'd gone out there to begin with. _Her_ daughter had gotten sick, and she personally couldn't do anything about it like she would've done normally as the child's mother. So not only was she worried, she also felt rather helpless.

Instead, Chris had gone out into potential danger to chase down what she needed, and they had to wait for some kind of word as to whether or not things had gone alright. Regan wasn't sure if it was the waiting or the helpless way she felt which grated on her nerves worse.

As she thought about it, she realized that she couldn't profess to having much of a worry for Wesker. Apparently he could go through a sewer plant and come out smelling like roses somehow from what she'd been told—and seen as well. Not that she wanted something to happen to him, but she was ambiguous about him in general. Certainly, he could be a big help, but knowing how much he hated Chris and seeing the way they'd fought the other night briefly, Regan knew he probably wouldn't go out of his way to ensure Chris's safety, at least, not not like someone who didn't have a personal vendetta against him would.

So it was Chris that Regan was much more worried for. Experienced or not, she was starting to really fear the worst for the man the longer they sat there. She found it ironically humorous that she wanted to thank him and kick his ass for his efforts at the same time. The thought finally got her to smirk just a little, and she remembered him asking if she'd mind his coming by to see her sometime in Dallas. Hell, as far as she was concerned, he could have a damned key to wherever she ended up living for everything he'd done for them now if he wanted one.

With a soft snort of amusement over the silly notion, Regan shook her head and let out a sigh of breath. As she drifted off in thought, getting to the end of her cigarette before she put it out, she inevitably thought she heard distant gunfire going off. The sounds made her brow crease, and she listened more carefully. Surely enough, there was a faraway pop of sound, and it got her to stand up and head toward the ladder where Cecilia was perched currently.

Looking up at the woman, she asked, "Do you see anything? Because I'm hearing something."

"Yes. I see them," Cecilia replied. She hadn't informed Regan sooner though because of _what_ she'd seen happening—a car flying through the air almost as soon as she'd spotted the men walking through the lot wasn't something she'd been expecting—and she decided to keep watching so she would know what was going on before she said anything at all. Not to mention, she had no idea if Regan was close enough to hear her, and yelling down to the woman was a bad idea in general.

Regan's brows shot up over the news, and hearing the distant shots fired, though they were very spontaneous and not at all regular, she asked, "What's happening?"

"I'm almost afraid to commentate," Cecilia replied. "But it's that thing that was following Wesker, the tyrant. They're fighting it now."

Cecilia let a sigh of breath, still watching through the scope, only lifting her head every once and again to look around the immediate area before she went back to watching the distant battle taking place. She couldn't see _everything _due to blocks in her line of sight like the cars in the lot mostly, but she'd seen enough to know that Chris and Wesker were likely going to be sore later.

"What?," Regan asked on a pronounced tone of voice when she heard the news, unable to help her surprise over the matter.

"Don't worry, they're putting up a good fight from what I can see," Cecilia informed the woman. She didn't want to continue though and worry Regan with the fact that she had _no idea_ what had happened to Chris, and now, she could see Wesker being approached by the tyrant, and the man wasn't getting up—_why_ he wasn't though she had no idea. The tyrant was closing in on him now, but he was simply crouched and unmoving.

As she tried to figure it out, something suddenly happened that got Cecilia to cuss, "Oh! Holy shit!"

"What!," Regan asked much more loudly than she'd meant to, then slapped a hand over her mouth, hoping she hadn't woken Shannon while peering into the back briefly. She couldn't help herself though. For all she knew, someone had just been killed, and she did _not_ want to hear that.

"Chris just used a bulldozer to hit the tyrant. I had no idea where he went before, but there's the answer, and he's about to run it over from the looks of it."

Running the tyrant over with a bulldozer would mean killing it, or so Regan hoped as she had no idea from the way it sounded what it might take to bring something like that down. But in hearing that Chris and Wesker were alive, and in hearing they were getting the upper hand, she felt a weight of anxiety being released from her chest while continuing to listen intently to Cecilia's next words.

"It must be dead now because Chris just got out of the bulldozer and he looks pretty casual. Hurt, but casual."

"Hurt how?"

"He's favoring his side. I can't tell much besides that though. His shirt looks dirty but it might just be mud, it's hard to say."

Regan took that in while she watched, looking up at the woman in the hatch and waiting for more information. She briefly wondered what might've happened and how bad the injury was, but if Chris was walking, then it couldn't have been too bad.

Cecilia interrupted her thoughts over it however when she suddenly commented, "What the hell? Wesker just fell over for no reason." She then paused uncertainly, and added, "Or so it looks anyway."

"He fell over?"

"Yeah, just collapsed. I can't tell what's going on though. Chris is just standing there, and...okay, now he's...," she trailed, watching for a moment, then finally told Regan as if she were completely confused, "he's pulling Wesker to a dumpster...and just threw him in. Alright, what in the hell is going on out there?"

"A dumpster?"

"Yeah, he just threw...oh, wait, it looks like he's trying to hide from something out there."

Regan's brows narrowed over her eyes in confusion and her lips parted for a moment in silence before she asked, "Like what? Do you see anything else?"

"No, I don't see a damned thing. Chris is hiding behind the dumpster and looking around the side of it now though, so he probably sees something I can't from here."

Regan thought about the situation, trying to figure it all out. Maybe there were zombies out there and he had to hide because Wesker was incapacitated. Regan knew he wouldn't be able to just drag the man back if something was around anyway—Chris wasn't a small guy, but neither was Wesker, and dragging the man would only encumber him and get him killed.

As she tried to figure it out, Cecilia suddenly informed her, "He's moving."

"Is he coming back?"

"Looks like it. I'm going to keep a watch on him until he gets close enough. Do we have any bandages?"

"Yeah, there's a few in the first aide kit in the bathroom."

"You should probably get it out for him."

Regan did like Cecilia suggested and went to grab the kit. By the time she'd found it, checked the contents, and went back to the kitchen, the door of the RV was opening and Chris was coming inside. Regan realized Cecilia was right about his physical condition the moment she saw him—the side of his face was trailed with lines of red and the lower left side of his gray shirt was a matching color from his back downwards and around to the front.

He was soaked through as well and he looked cold, but he was alive. As he shut the door and headed inside, Regan asked him, "Are you alright?"

Chris didn't say anything at first, only went to the counter to put his shotgun down on it before he leaned against it and caught his breath, though he'd started nodding his head silently. He'd busted his ass to get back to the RV as quickly and silently as possible, and after a moment or two, he finally began to speak.

"Yeah. We came across a few problems, but I'm fine, it's just a gash on my back." He looked over at her and then asked, "Did you guys see what went on from the hatch?"

"Cecilia told me that tyrant caught up to you. She saw you fighting it, and said that Wesker passed out and you threw him in a dumpster."

Cecilia was still on the ladder now, further watching the area, and Chris didn't seem to mind it because of what was out there, explaining the situation instead, and he started by walking toward the ladder and addressing Cecilia directly.

"If you see something out there, something big, let me know, Cecilia." He didn't explain that further just then however, and looked over at Regan to add to the comment "The tyrant managed to knock Wesker unconscious with a sedative, so I had to leave him behind because there's something else out there, and it's dangerous."

With that explanation in place, he lifted his hand out and told Regan, "Give me your radio."

Regan reached for the device and handed it over without question, though she had a confused expression on her face as she did so because she had no idea what could've been out there that Chris wouldn't refer to as zombies. It seemed like it could've been anything however, and she was just hoping that whatever it was, it wouldn't end up causing them too much trouble.

But she didn't ask about it while Chris put the device she'd handed him to his mouth and pressed the button, asking into it, "Wesker, do you copy?"

No response. That made Chris roll his eyes, and when he lowered the radio, he looked up at the roof where he could see Cecilia's lower half still settled on the ladder because he'd heard her saying, "Uh...Chris?"

"What?," Chris asked, walking back over to the ladder.

"I don't even know. You said to look out for _something big_," she enunciated, "and I see something pretty fucking big in the parking lot now."

Groaning, Chris cussed out, "Damn. I was hoping it would wander away."

"Oh god, is that an _eyeball_?," Cecilia asked at random to no one in particular from her perch.

The words got Regan to give a completely confused look. Turning that expression from the ladder and back at Chris, she asked, "What the hell is it?"

Before Chris answered her, he told Cecilia, "Just keep a watch out up there, and do _not_ let it see you. Stay low and let me know if it starts heading this way."

"On it," Cecilia replied. "So far it's just wandering in the lot though."

Hearing that, Chris turned his attention back over to Regan, finally giving her a slightly more thorough answer. "It's a G Type, but don't worry about the specifics. I've never encountered one personally, I just know that it's bad news and killing it is going to take a lot more than we've got right now. Not to mention, if it finds out where we are, it'll chase us down, and I know this hummer won't be able to outrun it fast enough unless we managed to get a damned good head start."

The women both listened, and Regan commented by cussing the words, "Fucking hell," on a sigh of breath. "Where did something like that come from?"

"Long story. For now, we're just going to have to keep our eyes open and wait for Wesker to wake up, then hope that he can get back here on his own."

Cecilia and Regan both knew there was nothing to be done about it now except exactly what Chris had said. They would have to wait and hope that this _thing_ out there didn't find them and attack them, which left an air of discomfort and anxiety lingering around them all. Chris was unpacking the medicine he'd gotten for Shannon onto the kitchen counter while they were considering it, and then he reached up to the side of his face once the bottles were settled and wiped his hand across his cheek.

He pulled it back to see fresh blood staining his fingers, and let out a short groan. "Shit, I need to go patch myself up before something else happens."

Regan knew he did, and she stepped around behind him, saying, "Lift your shirt, let me see how bad it is."

Chris reached down and did as she'd requested without hesitating, knowing he wasn't going to be able to see the gash by himself. He tugged it up over the wound and let Regan take a closer look while saying, "It was glass, so I just hope there's not still any in it."

It was a long cut, also still bleeding, and she could tell it'd been glass that had cut him because there was a hole in his shirt right where the wound was located for more or less, probably made whenever he'd been cut. But she didn't mention that part and only announced to Chris, "That looks like it might need some thread, but it's hard to tell with all the blood. You should probably tie your shirt around it for now to keep the bleeding down."

After making the suggestion, she stood up straight and added as she walked over to the counter, "I'll go give Shannon some of the medicine and come help you with it when I'm done."

"Okay," Chris returned, grabbing the first aide kit and heading into the bathroom so he could get started on his the gash above his eye. He just hoped the wound on his back would prove to be shallow, but either way, he didn't have the time to stitch it up, and they didn't have the resources to do it either. He'd just have to take tedious care of the gash if it turned out to be too deep to heal well on its own without help until they got to Dallas.

Regan watched him going, and then looked over at the medicine he'd settled onto the counter along with a thermometer. Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed with the urge to say thank you, but there was a problem—how the hell _did_ you thank someone for something like this? He'd put his life on the line and it hadn't been pretty, all to get her little girl some medicine. Regan honestly had no idea of how to even _try_ to show him the kind of gratitude she felt over that, and just _saying_ thank you almost seemed insulting in a way. _Hey, thanks for almost getting killed to get my daughter the medicine she needs_. Yeah, that wasn't precisely something Regan wanted to just _say_.

Still, she owed Chris for this, and she'd find some way to repay him somehow. But now just wasn't the time to try anyway. Shannon needed the medicine, and Chris needed help—a good way to start showing a little gratitude, she figured—so she could consider it all later.

Getting the things for Shannon in hand, she pocketed the thermometer, and that was when she heard Shannon coughing and trying to call her name on a raspy voice that sounded desperate and scared. It got Regan to head into the bedroom quickly, and as soon as Shannon saw her coming in, the little girl reached for her with tears in her eyes.

Sitting the medicine down on the blankets first, Regan settled on the bed next to the bottles and drew her daughter over into a hug, kissing the top of her head. She didn't know why Shannon was close to tears, but she didn't hesitate to ask her, "What's wrong, honey?"

"I had a bad dream," the child replied, and it was hard to hear her because she was crying and raspy on top of it. "I...feel..._so_...bad."

"Shush," Regan replied, rocking back and forth as Shannon sobbed against her chest. "It's okay, I'm here Squirt, and guess what? Chris got some medicine for you."

"He...," she choked on a sob before she could get the question out, "he did?"

"Yep. Cough syrup too, the nice yummy stuff you like the taste of so much."

Shannon got quiet, and Regan slowly smiled, unable to see her child's face when it was buried against her chest, but she knew her daughter had just grimaced. So she added, "I'm going to give you two big teaspoons so you can really remember how good it is," on an amused tone of voice, trying to help the girl feel a little better. "It'll be as good as those homemade egg rolls I tried to make that time and ended up burning them."

Suddenly, Shannon started to giggle very softly, sitting back slowly and wiping her eyes before looking up at her mother with a bit of scrutiny. "You're not right," she finally rasped out after a moment, then turned her head suddenly and started coughing again.

Smirking, Regan lifted her up a bit and scooted toward the table, pulling out the Amoxicillin first. Getting one of the pills out, she handed it to Shannon and grabbed the bottle of orange juice to chase the antibiotic with. It took Shannon a little doing, and she gagged, but the medicine went down finally.

Before more could be done, the eight year old lowered the bottle from her mouth and made a request of her mother with the item out to her. "Refill this, mama, before I take the syrup, okay?"

"Okay," Regan replied, "and here, you keep this in your mouth until I'm back." Regan lifted the thermometer up and pulled it out of the wrapping, then stuck it under Shannon's tongue after brushing some of her red hair back and out of her face. When the item was in the girl's mouth, she slipped Shannon off of her lap and stood to go back to the kitchen. There wasn't much left of the orange juice anymore, but there was still enough for at least two glasses.

A few minutes later, Regan went back to the bedroom and administered the rest of the medicine to her child, checking the reading on the digital thermometer while Shannon grumbled about the taste of the syrup. It said 101.3. Hopefully that would start to go down now that she had something to take for it.

"Well, you've still got a fever, but it's low grade. You just rest for now though, let that medicine kick in, and I'm going to go check on Chris, alright?"

Shannon gave a slow nod of her head, laying back down against the pillows as Regan settled the bottles on the table for the time being and then pulled a blanket over Shannon's chest and swept her hair back so it wouldn't be in her face. Once done, she moved from the bedroom and toward the bathroom door where Chris had gone earlier.

Reaching up a hand, she knocked on the door and asked, "How's everything going in there?"

"You can come in," came his response.

Taking the knob, Regan opened the door open and stepped into the bathroom, seeing that Chris was holding a gauze against his forehead and had his shirt tied around his lower mid waist by the sleeves in order to keep the gash on his back from bleeding too much like she'd suggested earlier. The gray shirt was already ruined anyway, so it wasn't going to matter if there was even more blood sopped up into it.

"You got some extra painkillers I saw," Regan started in reminder to him as she stepped inside, "need some?"

"Maybe later, after this is patched up."

"Alright. Well, let me get my hands washed so I can clean that gash up. Just hope it doesn't need thread since we don't have any."

"Trust me, I know," Chris replied as he stepped back so she could reach the sink and wash her hands. He finished getting the bandage taped to his forehead while she did, and when they were both done, Regan moved behind Chris with the peroxide in one hand and waited for him to untie the shirt from around his waist, which she took in her free hand.

She used the bloody garment to stop the flow of the clear liquid down his back from getting all over his pants, pouring it along the wound evenly and watching the red, bloody line bubble up to a nice, pinkish froth while considering to herself that she was thankful she wasn't squeamish. After letting the wound fizz up for a moment, Regan poured the peroxide over the wound a second time to try to clean it as thoroughly as possible, and heard a few slight hisses of breath that were almost inaudible, telling her the thing probably stung like a bitch.

"Shit," Chris grumbled suddenly, "damned glass." Letting a slight groan of breath, he heard a soft snicker coming from behind him, and glanced back briefly, asking, "What's so funny?"

"You just remind me of Shannon and how she likes to cuss her cuts and scrapes whenever she gets them."

Chris remembered her doing that, and he smirked over the thought. "I just hate the cleaning part. I can handle the actual injury better."

"Oh, I know how that goes. I was in a car accident two years ago and got a shard of metal stuck in my thigh. But I was completely fine with it by the time we arrived at the hospital, content to live the rest of my life just leaving it alone. Sadly, the doctors didn't think leaving it alone was the best idea." Regan said the sarcastic words with a good bit of humor in her voice as she examined the wound she was tending to a little more closely, and heard Chris letting a soft chuckle.

As she inspected, more blood had began to flow out of it, and she asked him for a gauze before she patted it down gently, looking for any tiny shards of glass she might've been able to find and warn him about before she started to try to get them out.

There was one that she noticed sticking out of the wound just slightly, but it wasn't going to be easy to get to because it wasn't too big, but big enough to get with her fingers if she could work it out of the skin. So she warned him before she went to slowly work it out of the wound as easy as possible, until the tip was jutting out just enough that she managed to get her fingers on it and pull it out. Chris couldn't help but cringe every time he felt her pressing, clenching his teeth and gripping the edge of the sink while she did this until he tensed when he felt the glass coming loose as she freed it from the cut.

"Damn, wide edge on this, no wonder it got stuck," Regan said when she saw it, then tossed it into the sink, which made a short clatter before settling.

Chris groaned when he spied the sharp shard of glass she'd just pulled out of him laying there, still bloody, muttering out on a slight pant that came with the relief of no longer being prodded so much, "Please don't tell me you see more."

"No, thankfully, that was all, and I know that hurt. I'm sorry."

"As long as it's not still in me, I don't care," he replied on a gravelly tone of voice because of the throb that was surging through his back now and the relief of knowing she wasn't going to have to do that again.

"Well, the good news is that it's starting to stop bleeding except the spot I just cleared glass from. Still, it's going to need looking after, but it's not _too_ deep. Hand me a bandage and the ointment."

Chris lowered his gaze and reached to grab one from the first aide kit on the sink's counter, then lifted it back to give to her, followed by the ointment. When she had the items and was working on getting them prepared, he asked her as he waited, "How's Shannon anyway? I heard her crying."

"Better now," Regan replied, still focusing on what she was doing. "She had a bad dream and it scared her. But her temperature is low grade, a hundred and one point three. I think the medicine will have her back to at least semi normal in no time."

"That's good," Chris replied, then cringed and jolted when he felt Regan pressing the bandage over the slice on his back with the ointment on it.

Regan felt the way he tensed when she did that, and looked up to his face from where she could see it in the mirror over the sink in front of him to ask, "Too hard?"

"No, that ointment's cold."

"Oh," she replied with a chuckle of sound in her voice. "Sorry. Is it throbbing?"

"Like a son of bitch," Chris admitted plainly. With a sigh of breath, he went on to say, "But I've honestly had worse."

Regan could only imagine that was probably the truth. Still, she felt the need to direct him with the words, "Yeah, well, don't get all tough guy on me. If it ever starts bothering you, let me know."

"Who says I wouldn't?," he asked curiously, and there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Regan smirked over the way he'd asked that, tugging some tape off for the gauze as she replied, "You just don't strike me as the type who lets anyone know when he's feeling bad all the time, that's all."

Chris looked down at the sink and smirked. She was right, he didn't always point out the pain he was in. He could admit that as well, though he also reminded her, "Maybe, but I couldn't hide this from you if I want to anyway. I can't even see it, so I'm going to have to get a little help changing the bandages."

"True," she conceded, still smirking in amusement as she smoothed some tape over the gauze, trying to be light about her ministrations to keep from jarring the wound any. That was when her smirk faded as a more serious thought came to mind which she put to him.

"So what about Wesker? I mean, how long can we stay here and wait for him? Or could you take Cecilia and go back to get him?"

"With that thing out there, no, I'm not risking that. Wesker will know what happened when he wakes up, or he should at least get the picture."

"He'd better wake the hell up soon," Regan muttered, pressing more tape over the bandage as evenly as she could considering the natural curve of Chris's back. "I want to get going."

"Same here," Chris replied, and no sooner than he said the words, he heard his radio going off.

"_Chris, I hope you had a good reason for throwing me in a dumpster. Over._"

Regan could see Chris's expression in the mirror across from him as she was applying tape to the bandage, and he was grinning nearly from ear to ear over the blandly spoken comment they'd just heard as he lifted the radio from where he'd settled it on the counter near the sink. Somehow, she got the feeling that the line had made Chris's day despite any pain he'd just gone through, and it got her to grin in turn.

Pressing the button, he replied, "Yeah, I did. The G Type left the building only a few moments after you passed out, so I hid you and hightailed it back to the hummer without a choice." More pointedly, he added, "You're welcome. Over."

Silence came from the other end, probably because Wesker was checking out the world outside the dumpster, and Chris didn't say more until he'd gotten a response. Regan announced that she was finished in the meantime and quietly told Chris, "I'll get you another shirt," before she left the bathroom. When she was gone, Wesker finally responded.

"_I'm not detecting anything outside. It may have wandered off. I'm still weary however, so it will take me some time to get back undetected. Over._"

"As long as you don't draw any attention, that shouldn't be a problem. We have a lookout here, Cecilia's on the roof with the rifle keeping watch, over."

Before Chris could say more, Regan came back into the room and she had a somewhat dire look on her face. Without question, she told Chris, "Whatever Wesker said, tell him to stay put. Cecilia said that thing is wandering closer to the dumpsters right now."

"Shit," Chris cussed, lifting the radio up and adding, "Going silent, you've got someone outside judging by our lookout."

"_Copy that._"

Wesker didn't say anymore, and Chris knew he would just have to keep the radio with him for now. If Wesker needed something, he'd ask for it. So in the meantime, Chris took the shirt that Regan had just come back in with and tugged it up and over his head, a simple green one with short sleeves that Regan had probably just grabbed at random. He pulled the garment down quickly before he grabbed the radio and headed into the kitchen area once again.

Meanwhile, Wesker was considering to himself that he'd been in several situations before, some tense, some not so much—but he'd never found himself in one quite like this.

He lowered the radio from his mouth after sending a message to Chris in the hummer and peered back outside of the dumpster he'd been thrown in to hide him from the G Type. As he'd said before, there was nothing about that he could see, and he was ready to climb out of the damned waste disposal bin—Chris and his so called ingenuity, he thought with a scoff—so that he could make a break for the RV, when he heard what Chris had said about the G Type being right outside.

He'd only cracked the door of the dumpster a little when he'd woken up, enough that he could see out of it, and nearly as soon as he'd looked back outside, something had very suddenly blocked his path. It was too close to be able to recognize right away, but Wesker didn't need to see to know what it was.

Cecilia had been right. The G Type was on his proverbial doorstep.

Wesker stayed silent as the hulking creature stepped into his sights from outside of the container with heavy footfalls, but he wasn't afraid like a normal person would have been—he was irritated. Had William Birkin been alive in that moment, he would've happily throttled his old friend faster than someone could bat an eyelash. To think the scientist's actual fate, however, lie in becoming such a creature was somewhat sadly ironic—not to mention a loss in Wesker's opinion as William _was_ brilliant when he wasn't falling prey to his own emotions and ambitions. But seeing this creature, a product of that man's research, standing in his way now only annoyed Wesker instead of impressing him.

Perhaps it didn't matter if he couldn't leave immediately though. Wesker could still feel himself recovering from the effects of the sedative, though they were fading fast. He was a patient man as well, and he could wait for the roaming B.O.W. to move away long enough to give him an exit.

Though, he thought rather blandly as he glanced at his current surroundings, the setting was just as irritating as the roadblocks in his path. He could only imagine that Chris had wished the dumpster he'd picked to throw him into was filled with trash rather than simple, broken down cardboard to be taken off for recycling. So Wesker _did_ count himself fortunate in a way—at least it wasn't _filthy_ in particular. But a dumpster was still a dumpster, no getting past that little fact.

Outside, Wesker heard a few more thudding footfalls and grunts of breath. He watched quietly from the crack he'd made in the door to witness the G Type moving off far enough that he could see the parking lot and the medical facility beyond it. The dumpster was facing away from the access road—a tactical disadvantage for him in escaping. But with the G Type moving off now, it might've been the chance he needed to get away undetected.

It was when he was waiting for his opportunity that a new element presented itself to the game, and it was rather significant—the sound of rotary blades could be heard in the distance overhead.

With a sigh of breath that was inaudible for the most part, Wesker got the very express feeling that search and rescue was close by, close enough to flag down had they been on the highway instead of raiding a medical facility for the sake of a child who was no asset—though Wesker _had_ found use in the endeavor after all, as surprising as it was for him to consider. Still, they were deadlocked in a situation where even Wesker's abilities wouldn't change the course. They might've brought a balance certainly, but this was a G Type, and killing it would only mutate it further.

Though that _would_ give them time, they likely didn't have enough ammunition to pull it off.

With the consideration in mind, suddenly, the radio in his hand went off without warning. Wesker definitely hadn't expected that because Chris wouldn't just pick it up when the group was running silent for the time being. But the signal wasn't clear, even screeching loudly a bit due to bad reception. That meant an outside source was being picked up, very likely from the search and rescue teams that weren't too far away from the sound of it, and Wesker turned the radio down before it could make too much noise.

Sadly, he hadn't done so before the G Type outside of the dumpster turned around to face the large, blue container. With a slight groan of breath when he saw the movement, Wesker got on the radio and told Chris to get the hummer started _now_.

_10:37 AM_

Things were mostly quiet inside of the RV. Cecilia had made the suggestion that someone go and wait in the hummer, which was an idea that Chris was kicking around because it wasn't an easy choice to make. Just before he could give it much thought though, they all heard the distant sound of helicopters, and Chris headed toward the ladder.

"You see anything up there?"

"Not yet," Cecilia replied, looking up into the cloudy sky to try to spot whatever she could. Before she could get too much time in on looking though, she heard Wesker coming in on the radio below without much warning.

"_Chris, don't ask questions, just get the hummer started, __**now**__, and don't wait for me._"

Chris narrowed his brows over the command, but the sound of Wesker's voice had been serious enough that he decided to just listen. "Shit," he cussed, turning to grab his shotgun from the counter without question. He'd put his gun harnesses back around his shoulders now that his back was taken care of, so he already had his handgun, and his ammunition was in his belt pouch, so he was ready to go.

Except for the keys. Coming to a stop, he looked back, ready to ask if Regan or Cecilia had them when he noticed Cecilia getting down from the ladder while saying, "Go on, I've got the keys, just get outside."

Chris listened and turned to go, and Cecilia handed Regan the rifle and moved in behind him quickly, tugging the keys to the hummer from her pocket on the way outside. Once she'd opened the door and started moving toward the car, she asked Chris, "Why does he want us to get started without him?"

"He's probably wants us to get moving so he can catch up and we can escape," Chris replied as he moved around the back of the hummer where it was hitched to the RV and around to the driver's side, reaching a hand up over the hood to catch the keys when Cecilia tossed them across to him.

Snatching them out of the air, Chris opened the door and climbed in behind the wheel while Cecilia got into the passenger's seat, and he started the car up.

Without question, he put the gear into drive and hit the gas pedal, and no sooner than he'd done that, he looked into the rear view mirror to see something coming up on them from behind in a swift blur of speed. The car had already started rolling down the road by the time he'd looked, and the blur Chris saw, which was Wesker coming to join them like Chris had suggested he would do before, began to slow down until it became a more clear image of the black clad man.

Chris didn't slow down as Wesker reached the backdoor before too much more speed could be gained. Once he was there, he opened it and tugged himself up to get inside with the car still moving.

In the distance behind him was the G Type, which Chris also noticed in the mirror easily after Wesker pulled himself inside. So before the door could even be shut, Chris put the gas pedal all the way to the floor, though he didn't have much to push considering how hard he'd been pressing it already.

In the backseat now, Wesker asked without consideration of anything else in that moment, "Are there any grenades in the hummer? Something that might slow it down?"

Chris remembered he'd left the vest in the RV, but he still had one of the two he'd taken with them to the facility earlier in his belt's pouch. Reaching down, he snagged it and passed it back before he looked in the mirror again to see that the G Type was still running in behind them, but it seemed to be loosing to their gaining speed.

Chris then looked ahead to judge how much more road they could use to continue traveling in a straight path away from it. That was when he said, "We've got another problem."

There was a curve in the road up ahead. It wasn't too sharp, but it did bear hard to the left and would prevent them from actually speeding _away_ from the G Type formerly known as Stan according to the doctor in the medical facility who was probably dead now. Chris prepared himself as they neared the curve to try to keep their speed going while turning with it. To do so, the turn had to be made a bit early, and Chris did just that as they reached the winding roadway, keeping the hummer as steady as he could along the changing path as they went at the speed they were driving in now.

He didn't bother looking in the rear view mirror again because of the turn, but the G Type had suddenly jumped into the air as if it knew that, with the curve in the road, they wouldn't get away so quickly. So it used the momentum it had gained in running to propel itself forward and catch up to the retreating vehicle traveling down the roadway now.

The G Type landed only a moment later about ten yards away from its target—much closer than it had been previously because they were traveling down the road in a horizontal line in conjunction to the G Type's position instead of speeding _away_ like they _needed_ to.

This allowed the monster to get much too close for comfort. But Wesker had already opened the window of the door next to him and pulled himself halfway out of the door while they were continuously moving. He'd used his left hand to grab one of the two thin rails lining the hood of the vehicle in order to steady himself there. In his right hand, he held the grenade, and he pulled the pin out of it, waiting for the right opportunity. When the G Type had leapt, Wesker saw it, and that was the perfect time.

Raising his arm, he chucked the explosive outwards towards the area where the G Type had leapt toward. The result was for the grenade to come down only a few feet from where the monster had also landed only a moment beforehand, and as the monster was ready to charge them down and likely catch up to them, it went off.

Dust and grass suddenly tore through the air violently, and the G Type turned and put up it's claw to try to protect itself as much as it could. The hit wasn't direct, but it stopped the monster from charging them down so soon and allowed the hummer to take off down the roadway a good bit further before giving the monster a completely good shot at stopping them.

As the hummer moved, Wesker stayed right where he was, half of his trench coat billowing before him while his hair became mussed about in the wind as the gusts rushed over him from behind. But he stayed focused on the G Type as the monster began to recover, and then began to address Cecilia.

"Give me your handgun."

Cecilia didn't hesitate to do so, handing Wesker her weapon as he'd reached for it, and Wesker pulled it up and took aim—specifically at the oversized eyeball in the monster's shoulder—but he didn't pull the trigger right away. He waited until the G Type showed signs of following them down, and after a moment, it did just that.

Wesker fired, and though his vision was extremely good, it wasn't easy to get a shot when you were sitting in the open window of a moving vehicle while traveling away from your target, no matter how big it was. For that reason, he fired the handgun more than once, sending bullets sailing back toward the monster.

The bullets tore through the air, heading right at the G Type, whizzing past at differing distances, one heading completely over the target's head, the other right by it's enlarged shoulder. Then, two of them rammed into the enlarged eye, one in the pupil, while the last slammed into the arm. The bullets made the G Type slow down a bit in its pace, buying them all precious time, but it didn't stop running.

Chris, still driving and able to see this in the rear view, looked ahead and noticed a much wider turn than before, this time going to the right. So he didn't worry much about slowing down because the turn wasn't sharp at all, though he did yell out to Wesker to hold on.

Wesker looked back and noticed that Chris was about to turn, but stayed silent and turned his sights to the monster following them once more. The distance was growing greater and greater now, but he didn't attempt to climb back inside of the hummer until they'd rounded the next turn completely and the G Type was too far off in the distance to catch up with them easily at all unless they stopped moving for no reason.

As they finally managed to escape the monster's grasp, all three of them breathed more easily, and Chris glanced into the overhead mirror and at Wesker as the man climbed back inside. Wesker handed Cecilia her weapon back, and smoothed out his hair a bit after rolling the window up when he heard Chris asking him a question.

"How the hell did it find you?"

"You didn't hear the helicopters?"

"Yeah, we heard them, why?"

"Because my radio began to go off without warning. I was picking up a bad signal that was high pitched. _That_ got his attention."

Groaning, Chris looked ahead again. "At least we got enough of a head start that the damned thing can't catch up to us, and I'm not touching the break unless I have no other choice, so if anyone has to pee, go in your pants."

"Why not, I've already almost shit myself," Cecilia grumbled out while reloading her handgun. Once she was done, she looked back at Wesker and asked, "Did you manage to hear anything on the radio before it found you?"

"Sadly, no. I didn't try to listen either."

Nodding her head, she looked back out of the front window again and mentioned, "Still, I don't like that this thing spotted us. How the hell long will it track us down for?"

"Probably long enough to give us a run for our money with our current condition," Chris replied. "I haven't met a B.O.W. yet who'd give up easily anyway. I just hope that the search and rescue teams don't come across it, and if they do, they don't get in trouble for it."

"Right," Cecilia replied, then looked back at Wesker again. "Do you think we might pick up more radio signals from them?"

Wesker had already taken the radio into his hand to start looking through the signals, and he replied, "That's what I'm attempting to find out." He was twisting the knob on the side to try to find a better frequency than he'd had before. Some of them gave nothing, some gave static, and others made a squeal of sound which was like nails across a chalkboard.

"It's possible that we're already out of range," Chris spoke up after a few minutes of that kind of thing.

Wesker stopped when he spoke, setting the channel back on the same one it had been on before, and then put the radio to the side. It wouldn't matter for the moment if they _did_ manage to contact the search and rescue teams. With the G Type possibly trying to follow them, they couldn't stop, and who knew how well armed the helicopters might've been. Then again, Wesker surmised that any government agency in this world wouldn't risk sending out any teams without arming them to the teeth.

Quite a day it'd been so far, though. Wesker looked ahead, having lost his shades in the battle with the Tyrant, so his eyes were showing through as plain as day, and he just stared at the road. More and more he was starting to doubt Sherry Birkin as being the mastermind behind these setups. From everything he'd witnessed so far, evidence was suggesting there wasn't a sole individual at all, but rather a group of people who had perhaps gone awry, and if that were the case, he wondered just how many of them might've been dead already.

Time would tell both the cause and the reasons however. For now, anxiety persisted to follow them as they traveled along, questioning whether or not they would be caught up with, or manage to make it anywhere at all before everything decided to come to a close.


	37. Instinct

_Chapter 36 - Instinct_

_ August, 14__th__, 2006_

_ London, England_

_ 7:15 PM_

"Even if you stare at it for three days, it's not going to get any easier to figure out, Chris."

"Huh?"

Chris had been focusing on a newspaper clipping when the words hit his ears, and he turned his head and looked back when he heard a snort of amusement over his oblivious response. The sound came from the other side of the table in the hotel's conference room where he was currently sitting, and his eyes landed on his partner settled just across the way at that same table.

When he looked at her, Jill told him, "This is Earth calling Mr. Redfield, wake your ass up and take a break for once."

Chris looked forward again and shook his head over Jill's blunt way of telling him to ease up. He knew she was right, he'd been trying to piece things together for too long now, and if he did much more, he'd go into meltdown—something she'd already admitted to going through half an hour prior. Seemed like she was right, now was a good time to take a break.

They were in a conference room at a hotel in London, England, staying there for various reasons currently, but all of those reasons had to do with work. This was easily evidenced by the documents posted all over the presentation board left there from a meeting they'd had earlier with the B.S.A.A., which wasn't a large meeting, but it had to do with some important matters, including the pursuit of Albert Wesker and how things were coming along so far on that end.

The documents stuck on the display boards included pictures, newspaper clippings, faxes, any and everything they could find to try to help them discover the whereabouts of a certain corporate founder who might lead them to Wesker—Ozwell E. Spencer.

They'd been trying to use the information to piece Spencer's whereabouts after figuring he would probably be their best bet at getting more information of anyone, and they'd both been working out potential "what if he's here or there" scenarios for most of the evening, which seemed to take up a good bit of their time recently. They'd started tracking him down a week ago, and still hadn't had any one hundred percent positive come up. Apparently, Spencer was a slippery old bastard.

Standing from where he'd been sitting near the front of the room while staring at a newspaper clipping with an odd story on it that contradicted another record they had in evidence—the reason tracking him had been such a pain in the ass—Chris turned and walked toward the center of the room and to the table where Jill was already sitting. She had her legs propped up and boots crossed over one another casually, her hands shoved into the pockets of her gray cargo pants, her chestnut brown hair tied into a ponytail, and her ID tag hung from the collar of her light blue, short sleeved shirt.

She watched Chris heading to take a seat on the other side of the table across from her, between them settled a few containers of food from a Chinese restaurant that Jill had ordered a delivery from since they hadn't had a decent meal all day long. They'd planned to do as much research as they could though, so getting something to eat to keep them both going was definitely up their alley.

Chris only reached for the cup carrying his drink at that particular moment however, and said as he pulled it over, "It's embarrassing."

"What is?," she asked, a brow narrowing at him with the other one raised curiously.

"A crusty old geezer getting the slip on us," Chris muttered out in response.

Suddenly, Jill let out a short laugh. He was right, but the way he'd put it only made it sound even worse than it actually was in an amusing fashion. So she reminded him, "Crusty old geezer or not, he's one of the wealthiest men in the world. That counts for something if you need to disappear in a pinch."

Chris had been a little sour that evening, and Jill couldn't blame him. Regardless of what she'd just told him, she was starting to get irritated with nothing turning up on Spencer herself. Their trail was warm, maybe luke warm, and they had some good leads, but currently, they'd exhausted their resources when it came to the people they could question about it, waiting for responses to come in at current. The waiting was putting a kink in their efforts of finding the _crusty old geezer_ sooner though.

"Seems like all the assholes have the money if that's the case," Chris muttered out.

Jill pursed her lips, a look that said she agreed, but she didn't want to say it out loud because it was just too damned depressing. Instead, she she slightly changed the subject and mused aloud, "I just wonder how willing he'll be to give up information when we _do_ find him."

"Don't think it'll be easy?"

"Well, he's old," she started plainly, looking over at Chris and shrugging a shoulder. "If he doesn't want to talk, pointing a gun at him probably won't work."

"He might be old, but that doesn't mean he's ready to die to keep something a secret," Chris pointed out in response, and realized what he was saying as soon as the words were out of his mouth. So he amended them. "Then again, he probably would, but you're right about threatening him."

Chris thought about it a little more after he'd spoken those words, supposing that resorting to typical methods of information extraction if the old guy was stubborn might not work, but at the same time, they needed to know what he knew. That brought up another consideration in his mind.

"If he _does_ withhold information," Chris began to muse aloud curiously, "what do you think the motivation would be?"

"Hell if I know. I can't think of any reason why he would want to protect Wesker. Then again, who the hell knows what that man might have up his sleeve."

"Exactly. He's probably a bottomless pit of fucked up information and shit we've never even thought of before. Just look at his taste in interior design like the estate in Arklay. I'm surprised he didn't walk in there one day and kill himself by setting off a trap he'd forgotten about."

Jill snorted over Chris's colorful way of describing things in an irritated fashion—something he'd always seemed to have a knack for doing—while shaking her head over the sad but true statements. With a sigh of breath, she stared off into space as she grew still once again, just considering all the things the man might be able to give them that would help them with a number of causes. Though he wasn't a major player in the game anymore as far as active terrorism went, he still knew enough to point fingers at several who were, and if they did find him, they'd question him about more than just Albert Wesker—though Wesker, their sole reason for tracking Spencer down now, would be at the top of their list.

Jill knew that much, and she wasn't worried about it. But sometimes she considered the question of _then what_? When they found Wesker, what would happen? Jill hadn't engaged Wesker in a fight since Arklay when he was still human, but she knew all about what he was capable of now, knew everything there was to tell, and she looked over at Chris with those thoughts in mind.

"What do you think will happen when we find Wesker?"

"A fight," Chris replied without any hesitation or fanfare in his voice.

"I know _that_, smartass," Jill retorted, slightly smirking. "I just mean we're going to need a crane to bring him in from the sound of it. We're closer than we've been yet after all."

"We'll just kill him. No sense wasting energy putting him into holding after everything he's done."

She smirked, agreeing with the sentiment because she knew as well as Chris that there just wouldn't be any other option even if they _wanted_ to bring him in alive. Well, unless they managed to incapacitate him somehow, but that wouldn't be guaranteed, an it made Jill purse her lips a little in frustration. Why the hell did she have a bad feeling about all of it?

Suddenly, Chris brought her out of her thoughts when he spoke again however. "What is it that has you worried?"

Jill looked over at him, snapping out of her thoughts, and then shook her head, replying, "Nothing."

"Bullshit. What is it?"

Chris knew Jill better than that, and she rolled her eyes over the blunt way he'd just called her bluff. If she didn't answer him now, he would only hound her for however long it took to make her tell him what it was that was bugging her, so she decided not to withhold her thoughts any longer and told him what he wanted to hear.

"I just get this sense of foreboding whenever I think about some kind of confrontation. And no, before you start harping," she added to keep Chris from saying what she knew he would, "it's not aboutyou or worrying he'll hurt you or whatever. Which is the odd part."

That _was_ pretty odd. Chris knew that he was the bigger target of the two of them, though Wesker wouldn't hesitate to kill either if he got a shot at it. Still, he'd figured she was probably worried because of that, worried that Wesker would, in fact, kill him whenever they had a fight, because he'd likely take a shot at Chris faster than he would Jill. So saying her sense of dread didn't have to do with that in particular was a little strange.

"I just have this sense that it won't end pleasantly for either of us, or the BSAA in general, and I don't know _why_," Jill added as Chris was having the thoughts.

That sounded a little more normal. Chris didn't make a response to her at first though, his face growing a bit solemn. "You don't think we'll win?"

"No, I think we'll do what we need to whether we win or lose, but I just can't shake this feeling that it's going to be more complicated than just winning or losing."

She shrugged, not putting too much stock into the feeling herself, as she simply realized it was there and it was strange. But she heard Chris sighing and looked over at him to see a less than happy expression on his face. The sight got her to let out a sign of breath, and she told him, "Come on, don't take it that seriously. You know how those feelings can go."

"With anyone else, I wouldn't," he replied, looking back up and across the table at her. "But with you it's different. I know you well enough not to just dismiss a gut feeling or something like it."

"My gut hasn't _always_ been right," she reminded him.

"No, but I can't forget you said it."

Jill made a bland expression at him in response to the comment as if she'd tasted something disagreeable, then informed him, "See, this is why, whenever you ask me what's wrong, I always say _nothing_. Now you're in a worse mood than before."

"Forget my mood," he countered.

"I can't, I have to stare at your sour face whenever you're irritated."

That finally got Chris to smirk a little bit. So he gave in, saying, "Alright, fine. We'll change the subject. Besides, we have to find Spencer first. Confrontations with Wesker will be later. Sam might turn up something soon on Spencer with what we sent him, so we'll just have to wait on him to see and be irritated that we're getting outsmarted by a crusty old geezer in the meantime."

"Sam could find a needle in ten haystacks, and he's always right. But you know what irritates _me_ about all of this?" After Jill asked the question, she looked over to see Chris briefly shaking his head while taking a drink from his cup, and she informed him, "The fact that it seems like if _we're_ on the case, everyone else wants to slack off."

That made Chris smirk. "We're just too damned good."

"Yeah, well, there's a price for being too damned good, people expect everything out of you and then some," Jill muttered back on a tone of voice that Chris knew meant she was partially amused. "But let's just stop for a bit. I don't even want to think about it right now."

"Aw, tired of chasing down Umbrella founders already?"

Jill snorted over the sarcastic comment. "I'm not tired of _that_, I'm tired of theorizing."

"Oh, so you're ready to go out and shoot someone then. And here everyone always says _I'm_ the one who's trigger happy."

"I'm not ready to go shoot anyone," she shot back, smirking before she added certainly, "and you _are_, Chris."

"Oh," he nodded plainly. "Well good, didn't wanna ruin my reputation or anything."

Jill grinned over the comment and grabbed the carton of noodles she'd been pecking at before, but had settled down because she was curious to see how long Chris might've ended up staring at a newspaper clipping while trying to piece things together as she kept urging him to take a short break. Now that she'd finally gotten him away from the puzzle, she took the chopsticks into her hand again and scooped some of her food out with them like second nature, taking another bite while it was still decently hot.

After a moment of chewing while staring down into the contents of the container, she asked Chris idly, "You know how English food always tastes so bland?"

Chris, knowing this was Jill's way of resetting her mind so she might figure something out faster, replied by saying, "Yeah, why?"

"I think they do whatever it is they do to the Chinese food here as well. It's not bad, but it doesn't taste authentic."

Jill wasn't a food connoisseur, but she tended to know good food when she had it. Chris smirked, then watched her taking in more of the noodles with the chopsticks, and he asked her in the meantime, if only to annoy her, "Why the hell don't you use a fork?"

"You're the one with the big, clumsy hands, Chris, not me. So I'll eat however I fucking want, thank you," she returned in a mockingly offensive fashion, chuckling softly over their banter afterward. "Go back to running around in circles on this case if all you're gonna do now is try to bait me."

She rolled her eyes at him in a sarcastic manner, then watched as he stared at her in return while snatching up a container of food that he opened while never taking his eyes off of her, his expression serious in a '_is that so?_' kind of way. He grabbed a fork once the container was open, holding the utensil like the handle of a knife in his hand, which got Jill to snort, and then stabbed it into some of the chicken and rice inside and pulled it out, spilling a little of the food over the table on the way to putting it in his mouth.

Jill started grinning before he even did that much, and chuckled when he ate it 'like a man would eat', which she knew was the point he was getting across. Once he had a mouthful of the chicken and rice, she started shaking her head at him and went back to her own meal while nonchalantly informing him, "You need help."

"So I've been told," he replied, losing the serious expression to a smirk before turning the fork to hold it normally. "In fact, I think _you've_ told me that more than anyone else has."

"I mean it every time I do, too," she replied, getting more food into her chopsticks and smirking the entire while, honestly glad for the temporary change in subject.

As she took another bite, she was halfway through with her chewing while Chris was mentioning that it was nice that his partner had so much faith in his mental state when she felt her phone vibrating and put her chopsticks in the container before she tugged it up to look at the name. Suddenly, Jill sat forward and pulled her legs off the table, washing the food she'd been chewing up down with some drink, and then put the phone to her ear after pressing talk.

"Hey Sam," she started, giving Chris a knowing look as she went on, "what's up?"

That got Chris's attention, and he chewed the rest of his food and swallowed as he listened to whatever might be said. For the moment, all she was saying were things like 'uh huh' and 'right', but then she stood up and went over to the wall where they had their data pinned up, and she looked for various pieces of it.

After a moment, she grabbed some of them and brought them over to the table next to where Chris sat, saying, "Yeah, give me one second, I need a pen."

When Chris heard that, he looked across the table and found one laying near him, grabbing it and handing it over to Jill. When she had it, she suddenly cussed out, "Oh bullshit," in response to whatever Sam had just said. Then she chuckled out. "Heh, no, his head is still in one piece, I promise."

Chris rolled his eyes, knowing Sam had probably just asked whether or not he'd exploded trying to figure everything out yet. But he smirked and stayed silent while Jill continued to look over the paper and mark through some things, followed by writing and saying, "So he _did_ go to Europe and the charts were forged."

Silence came from her and Chris could hear Sam talking on the other end, but not well enough to make out what he was saying. Jill then spoke the words, "You're telling me. It's something Chris and I figured out too damned soon." More silence. "Well what can I say, we've been trying to bust our asses the past week or so, and this is the first positive thing we've come across. Martin's information was sketchy, but this is definitely helpful. Thanks Sam."

A moment later, she was hanging up the phone, and Chris, of course, asked, "Okay don't leave me hanging here, what'd he say?"

"Eastern Europe," Jill replied. "That's where the private jet was heading, Sam managed to track it there, and that's where Spencer's hiding now. He paid some private airport owner to forge the flight charts so he wouldn't be followed."

Chris rolled his eyes. That had been one of their, admittedly numerous, theories. Instead of focus on the irritation it had caused them though, Chris just asked, "Did he get a precise location?"

Jill grinned, telling Chris everything he needed to know with that one look alone. She slipped one of the papers over to him that she'd written on and said, "We've got a trip to plan. We'll want to do it fast too. Sam said one of his contacts told him the guy never stays in one place for too long, and this flight was two weeks ago."

"How the hell that works I'll never guess if he's in a wheelchair," Chris muttered out as he read the location she'd written down.

"Money," Jill stated flatly, recapping the pen. "How else? Unless he has a jet engine built into his hoveround."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Chris remarked as he stood up, and Jill watched him heading to the board to get their information down. As he did this, he said, "I'll go report this and get us booked."

Nodding, Jill replied, "Alright, I guess I get stuck with the packing and inventory. _Again_."

"You're better at it."

"True," she admitted in an egotistical fashion as she grabbed the pen again and started to jot down a few reminders to herself on a blank piece of paper.

After a moment, while Chris was gathering their things, she heard him saying, "I just hope you don't have anymore of those weird gut feelings in the meantime."

Jill smirked, still writing as she said, "Well, at least they're never about _you_ in specific."

Chris snorted softly over the comment, then thought about it a little more. After a moment, his brows began to narrow, and he looked over at Jill while she was writing on the desk. Curiously, he said, "You're right, I don't remember you ever saying you had a bad feeling about something _I_ was going to do."

"That's because I know nothing's going to happen to you."

Curiously, Chris inquired, "Oh yeah? And how do you know that?"

Looking over at him with a confident smile on her face, Jill told him, "Because I won't let it."

Chris watched her for a moment after the words were spoken, then smirked, slowly nodding his head. "I believe that," he replied, showing the faith he had in his partner before turning to go to the door.

It was true, Chris knew Jill would do whatever she could to keep him safe, to keep them going, and he'd do the same thing to help her out in return. He trusted her with his life, and didn't doubt her fortitude one bit—or her instincts. If she said she got the feeling that winning or loosing against Wesker was going to be a bit more complicated than just that, he would listen to that instinct. He just hoped in the meantime that once they found out where the bastard was hiding, they could figure out quickly _why_ it wasn't going to be as simple as that.

_Three and a Half Months Later_

"Ready. Aim. Fire!"

A cacophony of gunfire went off from the uniformed men standing in a neat line, followed by the same command being given only a moment later before they fired again. Not too far away was a grave in a cemetery that the volley was being shot for, and closer to that grave were mourners attending a funeral. Some people were in tears, others silently paying their respects, and all of them were dressed in fine black garments which made the colors of the flowers settled around the area in farewell to the departed stand out vividly.

Clouds were shrouding the sky in gray, and umbrella's were being brought out and put up by a few of the mourners as a fine drizzle had started falling since they'd arrived while the volley went off, five shots being fired to commemorate and honor the dead. Standing with the mourners was Chris, garbed in a pair of black slacks and a dark green shirt on beneath a black blazer that was starting to get only slightly damp with the newly falling drizzle of rain.

Standing next to him was his sister who'd flown to Indiana two days ago where the funeral was being held in the hometown of the departed Jill Valentine.

Claire, who was wearing a black, slim fitting dress with a scoop neck, a dark red belt around the waist, and a skirt that reached to her knees, didn't react to the loud shots of the volley, just as Chris didn't. Some of the other mourners had jumped slightly, though not very noticeably, but neither of the Redfield siblings paid the sounds much mind, used to the volume of the shots even when they were children.

The eulogies had been given and the service was almost over, the light drizzle staying steady while the mourners finally began to part ways and leave the grave site behind—everyone except for the Redfields. They'd both entertained well wishers and socialized with friends and family at the funeral, though Claire noticed a face or two in the crowd giving Chris a particular look that wasn't classified as being either happy or sympathetic. They were looks that she had to steel herself from reacting to. As far as she could tell, Chris hadn't noticed them, so she wasn't going to bring them to light by saying something, not to mention, this wasn't the time or place at all.

But as soon as she had the thought, after the people had departed and they were alone at the grave now, she heard her brother saying, "I think some of them blame me."

Jill didn't have much along the lines of immediate family, mostly just a number of cousins, aunts, and uncles that she was more or less close to, but even closer than them were friends of hers and of her parents alike, people who knew her when she was a girl, and none of them were very familiar with Chris.

So when he said that, Claire sighed softly, telling him without worry of anyone hearing her now that everyone was gone, "I think some of them need to know a little more before they make any judgments."

She glanced up to his face after making the remark, seeing a rather expressionless facade as she asked him, "More importantly, do you blame yourself?"

That was going to be a hard question for him to answer, Claire figured. But Chris surprised her by saying, "No. I know exactly who to blame for this."

Wesker, Claire thought, looking back at the tombstone. Inhaling a breath, she read the name on the granite surface of the grave marker, and then looked down at the grass, thinking about what she wanted to say. Finally, she turned her blue eyed gaze back up and said, "Good. That's what matters to me."

"You never did care what anyone else thought."

Finally, Claire found a small smile. "No, and neither do you unless they were someone important."

"I know," Chris replied. Finally, he moved a little more than he had been, looking down at the grass like Claire had a moment before, thinking about everything. Suddenly, he smirked and said, "But I half expected someone to start throwing tomatoes at me when I gave the eulogy I wrote."

The rain had started to get a bit heavier, prompting Claire to tug her own umbrella out and lift it up, holding it over her head as well as her brother's even though she got the feeling that Chris wouldn't care one way or the other. Once he'd made his comment though, she looked over at him with a curiously narrowed brow and asked, "What? Why? It was perfect." Then she chuckled softly, "I didn't think you were so well written."

"It took me long enough to get it out," he admitted with a little humor in his voice. "But I thought I might've been to...unemotional when I was speaking, probably made people think I didn't give a damn."

"You're just dealing with it how you deal with it best."

"Maybe," he replied, and that time, his voice sounded a bit more solemn. He let out a long sigh and looked back up. Claire watched him, wondering what he might've been thinking about, and she just waited silently for him to say something more.

When he didn't, Claire asked out of a sort of sisterly intuition, "Something else is bothering you, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Chris admitted freely.

With a slow, silent nod, Claire questioned whether or not she should ask, but decided that it wouldn't hurt in the least. "You gonna tell me what it is?"

Chris finally looked away from the grave and over at his sister, the expression on his face considerate. Taking a short breath as if he might've been trying to figure out how to put it best, he parted his lips and said, "I'm not convinced she's dead."

Claire knew the story, so she didn't have to ask. Jill had thrown herself out of a window with Wesker in order to save Chris's life. They'd combed the ravine that she'd fallen into for three months without a sign of any bodies or belongings, and had finally declared her, and Wesker, as being officially dead. When Chris called Claire to tell her, she booked the first flight she could get out of Barcelona where she'd gone on a business trip and flew to Indiana to attend the funeral with him. Jill was her friend too after all, and Claire couldn't miss such an occasion.

Before she could ask Chris _why_ he wasn't convinced though—which, she had to face it, the whole thing _did_ seem pretty seedy in description alone—he began to speak, looking back at the grave marker as he did so.

"Jill told me something not long before we left for Eastern Europe. She said she had this gut instinct that told her it wasn't going to be as simple as winning or loosing when it came to Wesker. I don't know what _not simple_ is, or how complicated it gets, but we didn't expect to run into Wesker when we did, and saying that she's dead now and so is he just sounds too cut and dry to be called complicated."

Claire thought about that for a moment, unable to help but wonder about it all. Was his theory true, or was Chris just burdened with grief and looking for anything he could find to keep him from facing the pain of loss? Knowing Chris as well as she did, she'd normally say this wasn't him trying to find some way to justify denial, but then again, he'd never lost a partner before.

"Does that sound like crazy talk to you?," Chris asked, proving their earlier chat about only caring for the opinions of those they were close to as being precise. He wanted his sister's thoughts, and she wouldn't deny him.

"I don't know, Chris," Claire responded with a shake of her head that made her ponytail waver a bit before she looked back up at him. "I know that with Wesker, _anything_ is possible. I also know that much, _much_ stranger things have happened. At the same time, you've never lost a partner before. Jill's been working with you ever since this all began. So I could say yeah, sure, it sounds too cut and dry, and I honestly think it does myself. But at the same time, I don't think you need to believe that it is completely. You need to remember that it might not be the case because, if it isn't, and you realize it later, it would only hurt you even more than it does now."

Chris took that in and slowly started nodding his head as he looked forward again. "Makes sense," he admitted. It made _a lot_ of sense, and caused Chris to draw in his breath deeply before releasing it aloud. He then felt a hand on his arm and looked back at Claire, who shook her head at him.

"I also don't think you need to consider it right _now_, Chris. You need some time for your emotions to settle down, _then_ figure out if you're just being hopeful or full of shit."

Slowly, Chris began to smile over the comment, then gave a nod of his head. That was why he asked, Claire didn't beat around the bush, and he didn't dismiss the things she told him.

"Com'ere, sis," he said, reaching to pull Claire into a hug, one she didn't deny him and returned with both arms despite the fact that she had an open umbrella in her hand. Chris _was_ grieving after all, and Claire knew it no matter how much he hid it when he was around other people. So regardless of whether his ideas carried weight or were as empty as a hot air balloon, he needed time to figure it out first, and then go from there.

"Tell you what," Claire said just before their hug ended and she stood back to look up at him again, putting the umbrella back up. "Why don't we find some place to go get a drink in Jill's honor, and I'll sprint."

That made Chris smile and nod his head. "Alright, but _I'll_ sprint. She was my partner, so it's my turn."

Claire couldn't help but smirk because Chris found a reason to say he'd sprint and that it was _his_ turn every time they managed to get together and do something like this, no matter what it was for.

Still, she agreed, saying, "Alright, but only if I get to pick the place."

"Deal," he nodded, then looked back at the grave. "Just, go get the car ready, I'll be along in a second."

"Okay, take your time," Claire replied in understanding. He needed a few minutes, and she wasn't going to rush him. "Do you want the umbrella?"

"Nah, I'm fine. You're the one wearing the nice dress."

Snorting, Claire shook her head, then turned around to go with the words, "Alright, I'll be waiting then."

Chris looked back as she gave the grave a final look and then began to walk away. Once she'd gotten far enough off in the distance, Chris turned back and walked over to the tombstone where the casket would be buried not too long from now. There wasn't anything in it, Jill's body hadn't been found, but if she _was_ dead, then this might be the closest to anything official they would ever have to an actual tomb for her, being a casket with some of her belongings inside of it.

Chris put a hand on the casket and took in a breath, ignoring the bouquets of flowers, including one of two on the top that was made up of white roses and blue delphiniums that had a short note attached to it signed with the typed out names "Chris and Claire Redfield". Instead, he thought about things, and finally, he looked back at the silver colored casket.

"If you really _are_ dead, then I lied to my sister. I _do_ blame myself, in so many ways. But you know who and what I blame more. If you _aren't_ dead though, and I'm just talking to myself," Chris paused, then let out a long, vexed sigh of breath.

He'd attended several funerals before, but never one quite like this, save the funeral for his parents when he was seven years old. It was never easy to figure out what to say or do in these situations, and Chris wasn't entirely certain that what he was saying now was even warranted due to the uncertainty surrounding Jill's death, which only made it that much harder. Still, he finished his thoughts.

"Let's just say I'm not going to stop until I find out the indisputable truth. I owe us both that, and I promise I won't let either of us down."

Making that promise, Chris looked the site over once more, taking his sister's words to heart that right now wasn't the time to consider conspiracy theories any more deeply than he already had. Today was the day mean for honoring Jill's memory if she really was dead, and if that came up to be true, Chris wasn't going to disgrace it by ignoring the fact that she really might have sacrificed herself for his sakes. He'd go and have a drink with his sister to honor her, and do what he knew that Jill would want him to, saying her life had actually ended.

But his own instincts were telling him that the truth was yet to really be seen. She'd said it wasn't going to be simple and he got the feeling she was absolutely right. Chris wasn't going to ignore those feelings forever. After all, nothing was _ever_ simple.


	38. Connection

_Chapter 37 – Connection_

_December, 6th, 2007_

_ Outside of_

_ 6:27 PM_

"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Chris."

The events at the medical facility had the group moving almost nonstop for an entire day and a half. Their only pit stop had been to let Wesker take over for the nighttime haul, and afterward they took a rest break whenever they had to.

But not long after they'd escaped the clutches of the G Type, Chris learned the particular fact that apparently, they weren't completely in the clear as far as the tyrant was concerned. It was earlier in the day when he was told this, and it came during a silent running down the roadway while each person had been having their own thoughts.

Wesker then informed Chris that he'd noticed something with the tyrant they'd fought earlier as if the memory had just popped into his head, and it was about the dart gun the creature possessed. Wesker started by saying the obvious words from where he was sitting in the backseat, informing the man that he had some bad news to pass along.

Chris was too tired to make a witty retort to that phrase when it came about, and instead, his mind went to more serious matters altogether, waiting for the inevitable answer that would make his day _oh so much brighter_. Wesker started explaining what he'd seen, and he didn't mince his words.

"I first ran into the tyrant in Utah not long after the jet crash. I was trying to see if there was any chance I might be able to commandeer an aircraft of some type when it showed up and engaged me. Sometime during the fight, it pulled out a very similar weapon to the one I was just injected with today."

"And?," Chris asked, waiting for the response.

"It never got the chance to fire because I destroyed the device with a bullet."

Chris and Cecilia had briefly exchanged a glance over the comment as Wesker continued to say, "Yet the tyrant you killed today had another one. It's highly doubtful that there's a team somewhere about, servicing it and providing it with weapons, which is telling of the fact that there is more than just one. I would also wager that the same tyrant we saw in Salida wasn't the one we just killed."

"But I thought you said you didn't know if it was trying to kill you or apprehend you before," Chris pointed out now that he knew Wesker had seen the tyrant with a gun that fired sedatives.

"I didn't know _what_ was loaded into the gun precisely, Chris. As I said, I destroyed it before it could be fired. For all I knew, it could have been some kind of lethal agent that would kill me, or disable me enough to allow the tyrant to kill me more easily. So now we know there's still a tyrant out there, but the question is, _how many_?"

That definitely wasn't something Chris wanted to hear. Two tyrants, possibly more? Things just kept getting better and better, like always. With a sigh of breath, Chris figured that the only way they would 'win' so to speak was by making it to Dallas alive and essentially unharmed. He tried to tell himself that "at least they knew", but instead of doing so, the phrase "ignorance was bliss" sounded a little better because he really wished he didn't know in that moment.

After they'd stopped to switch drivers for the night, Chris left the hummer and went to refill it with gas while Wesker took the wheel and Cecilia got a rest break. She grabbed a few food supplies from the RV as well, and opted to stay in the hummer with Wesker for the time being. Chris didn't make any comments over it, and only made sure they also had some ammunition, splitting it up before they got back onto the road again.

He went to the RV to find that the battery was definitely dying. It was dark when he walked inside, and Regan, who'd been fixing a little something to eat for dinner, told him the lights had been flickering, so she'd turned everything off, including the heat, and had been trying to conserve as much as she could for a time when they might really need it.

Chris only responded to that by saying it was a good idea, and then informed her of what Wesker had told him about the tyrant following them down. The information got Regan to groan lowly, a sound that Chris couldn't have agreed with more. But they at least wouldn't be surprised by it if it were to pop up now, and since there was really nothing to be done about the situation at current except to keep moving like always, she asked him how he was.

Chris told her that he was exhausted and, after some prodding on Regan's part, he also admitted that he was aching. So while he sat on the sectional and leaned forward against the table, she checked and changed the bandage on his back which had turned red since he'd first had it put on. While she tended to the wound, he asked her about Shannon, and ended up falling asleep during her answer without meaning to.

Once Regan realized he'd passed out, she grew quiet from telling him how she was and simply finished the job, then moved him to lay back across the sectional, and though that task wasn't completely easy because of his weight, he barely woke up during it because he was so tired. Once he was laying down with a pillow under his head, she didn't bother him again for the rest of the night.

Chris slept until the next morning without awakening once, and when he finally did come to, he had a slight headache and his back was throbbing in a dull manner. Mostly, that seemed to be due to the fact that he was laying on it at an odd angle because when he sat up and the pressure was lifted, he got a good bit of relief.

Regan didn't come out that day until around noon, and she tried to make everyone a little something to eat, including those in the hummer for whenever they stopped, thinking that after the events of the day before, they were going to need it. Things seemed to be getting more and more difficult the closer to Dallas they got, and she only hoped that didn't mean anything completely or overwhelmingly bad in any sense.

She was somehow getting a sense of foreboding overwhelming her, ever since Chris and Wesker had returned from the medical facility, and she wanted to be prepared for it if she could. She'd even unpacked the items she and Shannon had with her to leave behind whatever they really didn't need and take whatever was absolutely necessary, packing those items into something that was easier to carry—being her duffle and a backpack Shannon had a few things in.

She did this in the case that an emergency rose up where they might have to abandon the RV again and couldn't make it back. That seemed like one of the worst possible scenarios that could happen. For now, search and rescue would be able to spot them easily if they were on the roadways in a hummer with an RV hitched to it, but on foot? They'd be a needle in a viral haystack to find. So having _some_ supplies with them in a bag that was easier to carry than a suitcase was a good idea anyway.

She made an exception with the photo albums she'd packed away and put those in the duffle bag along with everything else. Regan realized they weren't important, life saving items, and that she was being sentimental, but she wanted them mostly for Shannon, because they would remind her child of happier times. Regan got the feeling that Shannon would need them not only for that, but also for her own well being and peace of mind. Whatever could be salvaged of their life before might make the child's transition into a new life easier, and so Regan didn't feel too badly for being so sentimental about something like that.

Once she was done, she went to prepare more medicine for Shannon to take, and when she'd left the bedroom, Chris had looked in on Shannon himself finally. Regan informed him on the way out that her fever had broken earlier in the day, and she was in better spirits now, which was definitely a good sign.

When Shannon glanced over to see him in the doorway, something on her face became a mixture of gratitude and admiration as she slowly smiled, and though she looked groggy—probably from the medicine she'd been taking—she looked like she were doing much better. Regan had probably been right in that the illness would clear itself up, but Chris didn't want to risk that, and now she'd get better even more quickly.

"Thank you," she whispered to him, her voice still raspy, but it would come back soon enough. She wasn't coughing nearly as much now, so whatever damage had been done to her throat would heal soon. Still, her expression got worried when she looked at Chris and, apparently trying to save her voice, she pointed at her temple silently.

Chris knew what that meant, she'd seen the bandage on his head, and he shook it in response to the unspoken question. "It's nothing, Squirt, I'm fine, and don't mention it," he replied, giving her a return smile. "Just get some rest."

Shannon nodded at him and laid against the pillows again, resting and waiting for her mother's return with another dose of her medicine.

Chris watched her for a moment and remembered Wesker asking if everything he'd gone through to get Shannon medicine had been worth it or not. Seeing her smiling and thanking him now, hearing her coughing less and seeing her feeling better was more worth the bullshit he'd had to put up with than he could have explained it. That was something Wesker would never understand though, even if he tried, and Chris felt superior to him in those moments because he had something that he knew Wesker just never would.

All his power didn't count for shit if he didn't use it for things that were worthwhile, and Chris didn't have his kinds of abilities, but he'd still accomplished what he'd set out to do. Now Shannon would get better, and to Chris, it didn't get much more worth it than that.

A moment later, Regan was back and Shannon was taking the syrup with a scowl on her face, grimacing and swishing her mouth with soda after each dose—they'd run out of juice the evening beforehand. Chris couldn't help but smirk over the look on her face because he hated the taste of the stuff as well. But he didn't comment and only turned and left the two to one another, deciding to head to the bathroom so he could check his forehead to make sure the bandage didn't need to be changed.

Regan sat with Shannon until she fell back to sleep. It took a short while, but she was a lightweight like her mother when it came to medicines, so the cough syrup knocked her out again without much trouble. She was coughing much less, showing that the syrup was helping, and said she felt a lot better. Her illness just needed to have some medicine to knock it out. Hopefully Shannon would finally be back to her old self in another day or two, if not completely so then at least enough so that she could function more normally.

Once asleep, Regan just laid there with her daughter bundled up under the blankets to keep warm when the heat wasn't on to save their power, stroking her hair and keeping her comfortable while she rested up. Regan kept thinking about Chris the entire time she watched her daughter breathing so much easier as well, patting her back gently when she let a few light coughs in her sleep, trying to figure out once more how she was ever going to thank the man now that she had the idle time to consider it.

Just saying thank you wasn't enough. Not for this. How did you just say thank you to someone who'd saved the most important thing in your world, particularly when your world had pretty much gone to hell in a hand basket around you?

Regan leaned in and kissed Shannon's cheek lightly when she had the thought, deciding to get back up and go take care of personal business and let the girl rest. So she slowly turned and stood up before heading into the bathroom.

When she was done, she went to wash her face and hands at the sink because she didn't want to get sick as well, and brushed her teeth on top of it just to be extra thorough. She then turned off the water after swishing before she looked up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. For a few moments, she just stared.

She hadn't really looked at herself in weeks, and now that she was, she couldn't help but let out a little sigh of breath. Her wavy red hair was currently lifeless, the layers she normally had it cut in growing out without being kept up. There were circles under her green eyes, she looked a lot older than she actually was, and she looked tired.

Hell, she _felt_ tired. _And_ old. Things had worn on her, and she knew it was showing.

People constantly assumed she was closer to thirty because of Shannon anyway, but right now, she felt like she were at least fifty with all the worry and the horror they'd been through since the end of November. With the notion came the thought that Christmas wasn't too far away from now either. Regan had wondered before if Shannon would have to spend it in hiding, or if they would be in Dallas and could manage to have _some_ kind of celebration. She hoped they could, but that wasn't completely important. Regan would take being alive and well over having a celebration any day of the week.

So she pushed the thought from her head, brushed her hair back into a newly made ponytail to keep it out of her face as much as possible, and then left the bathroom and headed into kitchen of the RV. Entering the area beyond the bedroom, she saw Chris standing at the counter, making himself a sandwich of some kind, and when he heard her footsteps, which Regan didn't try to hide, he looked over and spotted her.

It had grown to be a little darker by that time of the day, but he hadn't turned the lights on to try to conserve the RV's dwindling energy. Going back to what he was doing after he saw her in the dimly lit room, he asked, "Hey, how is she now?"

"Sleeping, and a lot better. She's a lightweight like me when it comes to medicine, so she'll probably be out for a while though with that cough syrup in her. I hate to make her so groggy with everything going on, but she really needs the rest."

Chris agreed with that while he was fixing up his food. He felt pretty famished, and though they might need to conserve, they also needed to eat, so he'd started making something simple that would fill him up for at least the time being.

As he'd worked on it, and grabbed the top slice of bread to finish it off, he told Regan, "I'm glad. I'd rather her be groggy than feeling like hell and dealing with things out here."

Chris turned around to face her with his back to the counter, though he didn't completely lean against it because of his back. As he came to face her, he noticed that she was nodding in agreement with what he'd said. Watching her making the movements almost gave him the feeling that she were just doing so by some kind of second nature instinct and not because she had her mind completely on the present. But he stayed quiet, realizing she'd been worried and was probably out of it too. Hell, they could all use a week's worth of rest just from the tension they'd had to endure alone.

It was when he'd had the thought that Regan finally seemed to come out of her slight daze. She looked over at him and, with a fairly serious expression on her face, said, "You know, I don't have the words to thank you, Chris. I really don't."

"You don't have to. I wanted to help her, so you don't owe me anything." He was about to go on to say that he'd made Shannon a promise anyway, but Regan had an expression on her face that made him stop altogether.

It begged the question, "Hey, are you alright?"

Regan had furrowed her brows and she almost looked sorrowful, but when he asked her that, it seemed to jar her back to reality because looked back over at him as if she might not have known what he'd asked at first. She then started nodding her head though like she'd just come to and figured it out.

"Yeah, I'm alright. I just," she trailed, then let out a sigh with a shrug of her shoulders, focusing her eyes back on him before she continued speaking, "you say I don't owe you because you wanted to help her, but how the hell can I just let something like that go?"

"Because I care about her too," Chris replied. "It's not anything you wouldn't have done yourself if you'd been able to."

"I know, and _that's_ why I feel like I owe you something I don't know how to repay. You cared enough to help her, and look what happened to you. Not everyone would do that."

"Maybe, but it's not like I did it for some kind of reward. It was a risk, one I knew I'd pay for somehow or another. Besides, just letting Shannon go on sick and miserable wasn't an option."

"That," Regan pointed out suddenly. "That right there, _that's_ why...," she suddenly groaned and looked down.

Chris watched her rubbing her eyes until she finally looked up and said, "Alright, you know what? Fuck it. Com'ere, you're getting a hug at least." As Regan had said that, she'd walked over to him without pause and reached out to hug him without caring how silly it might've been. Once she had, she felt him returning the hug gently and heard him letting out a snort of amusement, a sound that made her smirk.

Still, she informed him, "You're determined to make me lose my mind, you know that?"

"I thought this was a thank you," Chris replied on an amused tone of voice while he softly chuckled over the way Regan had said the words. He noticed as she hugged him that she was trying to keep her hands up above the bandage on his back as well so she wouldn't jar the cut there. He couldn't say he wasn't grateful for her memory because the damned thing was still a good bit sore.

With a groan of breath, Regan let go of him and stepped back, replying as she looked up at him due to his height over hers, "It is a thank you, but I had to let you know that. You _do_ realize if something happened to you yesterday—," she stopped when he lifted his hand.

"Don't," Chris started. "Nothing happened that I couldn't get through. It wouldn't have been your fault anyway. No one had a choice in it."

"You keep saying that," she muttered out, but realized she had absolutely no points to argue with him over it. She'd known there was nothing she could do while she'd waited, and there was nothing she could do now to change the story. So she finally conceded by saying in a slightly defeated fashion, "I guess you're right though."

He knew what she was going through. He'd been through it as well, more than once. So he offered her the words, "It's never easy, Regan. If I didn't go, something would've happened. I did go, and something happened. The important thing is that no long term damage was done, and that's the best you can hope for in this kind of situation."

She was nodding her head, and when he finished speaking, she let a soft sigh before replying, "So I'm learning. There's no easy way to do something, there's only whatever is the least harmful path. It's just a little hard to adjust to thinking that way. Guess I'll catch on soon enough."

"I wish you didn't have to," Chris admitted. "That's something on _my_ shoulders. We were supposed to prevent this from happening, and now look at everything."

"But that's not _your_ fault, or your company's. Whoever set this up is to blame. Just because you didn't manage to stop them doesn't mean your hands are dirty."

He didn't reply verbally at first, he only nodded a time or two before finally saying the word, "Yeah," a little vaguely. Then he noticed Regan looking up at him, and when he saw the look on her face, which was a little suspicious, he sighed and added more clearly, "I don't blame myself, I just feel like I could've done more."

"Maybe, or maybe not. But if _you_ could, then e_veryone_ could've done more."

Though he'd heard what she'd said, it took Chris a few moments to really get his mind on the present due to something else kicking around in his head that Regan didn't know about, and he wasn't sure he wanted to bring it up because of the more serious, and perhaps even sad nature of the topic. So instead of mentioning anything about it, he turned his attention to the woman he was talking to, trying to find a way to distract himself.

He did so by looking Regan over, thinking that she looked as if she were tired, but she was still a pleasant sight, especially after what he'd gone through over the past day and a half. The thought had popped into his head at random, and it wasn't one Chris was really expecting to have, though it did the trick as far as distracting him from his more grievous thoughts were concerned. Briefly, he wondered in a little amusement how women could pull off the thing where they looked worn out but still managed to be pretty. That would always be a mystery to him, and likely every other man he knew of.

He couldn't say he didn't think Regan was attractive either, and as soon as he realized that, he also noticed they were standing pretty close and he'd been staring at her longer than he'd meant to. Unsure how his plan to distract himself had managed to backfire on him in such a way, he attempted to ignore their close proximity by getting back on the subject.

"I know that," he started, meaning he knew that everyone could've done more like she'd mentioned. "Sometimes I wonder about it though."

"I think we all do," came Regan's plain response, "even in cases when it's blatantly obvious that there's nothing more that could've been done. Like with me yesterday. I guess it just matters what you manage to do to fix it once something's happened."

"True. So in my case, I guess that finding you and Shannon is something I'm glad I managed to accomplish, and those survivors in Santa Rosa. Cecilia too. Might not fix things, but it makes everything seem a little less wasted."

Regan was silently nodding her head as he spoke in response, but she felt as if she was having trouble trying to get her mind to work more easily in that moment. She was wondering if he'd been staring at her a moment ago, unsure because she'd become a little lost in her own considerations due to how close they were standing only a few feet from one another.

It was only just then that the thought occurred to her that _you know, Regan, you could take a few steps back_. Apparently, she'd either forgotten she had legs, or forgotten how to use them. But before she could make good on the idea, Chris had gotten quiet again and caught her gaze, which only made her thoughts fly out the window. As things grew silent between them in those moments, something else seemed to grow heavy and tense in the air around them.

As Regan sensed that growing feeling of what she could only describe as being drawn in, she just managed to take those steps she needed to take in order to put some distance between them, and she did it as swiftly as she could. She then turned to the refrigerator so she could pull out something to drink, deciding that doing so and then getting a smoke near the window of the sectional couch would be exactly what she needed to distract her from the way she'd suddenly started to feel.

Chris noticed the way she'd abruptly backed off and went to the fridge, and for a brief moment, he wondered about the movement. He hadn't been oblivious to the weight in the air when he'd caught her gaze, and he got the feeling that she hadn't been either. He was actually ready to take advantage of the quiet moment as well, though he did know it was for his own selfish reasons, a way to distract himself after the day he'd had and maybe forget for just a while if it was at all possible about all of the bullshit going on now. But at the same time, he knew when there was a good moment to make a move and when it just wasn't, and _that_ had been a good moment.

It got his mind onto the conversation they'd had a few evenings ago, and he remembered her saying that she felt like whatever came up between them was just developing due them trying to survive together any way they knew how. Maybe _that_ was why she'd backed off. She didn't want to allow something to happen that they would both regret later.

Letting out a breath, he asked her just to see what she would say, "Something wrong?"

"No," Regan replied simply, standing from grabbing a bottle of water, and she cleared her throat as if it'd gone dry, which it actually had. "Just a little thirsty."

She looked back up when she noticed him moving, and watched him turning to his plate. But he had a smile on his face that was suspicious to her somehow, as if he might've _known_ something.

"What?," she asked before she could think better of it. After all, she really didn't want to know what he might've been thinking in particular.

"You," he started, getting his food onto a plate, still smirking all the while. "You're cute when you're flustered."

Regan lowered the bottle of water she'd raised to her mouth and gave him a flavorless expression, complete with a set of pursed lips. "Oh yeah? Who says I'm flustered?"

"You look a little red in the face to me," Chris told her as if he just knew she was, his tone informative in a gloating manner.

"Maybe I'm having a hot flash," she suggested sarcastically, then smirked as she finally took her sip of water.

That made him grin, and he replied by baiting her, saying, "Fair enough. I guess looking at me only made it worse then, huh?"

Regan almost didn't manage to get her water down before her jaw dropped as she looked back over at him, but there were still hints of amusement on her face as she pointed out, "Oh, now that's just rude."

"What is?"

"Pulling the arrogance card."

"That wasn't arrogance, it was truth," he told her with an amused expression on his face.

Regan covered her mouth before she could let out a laugh, looking back as if to make sure she hadn't been too loud when some sound escaped her, and then she turned her head again to see Chris looking over at her. Lowering her hand, she gave him a much more serious expression through the mirth that was displayed on her face and said, "You're just not right."

The words seems strangely familiar in an amusing sort of way, and Chris took his plate into his hand as he turned to head to the sectional, saying on the way, "Been told that plenty of times before."

She watched him going with a peculiar look that said she might've been trying to figure him out, but she did notice the cocky smirk he had. She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. Men, she thought with some inward amusement. He'd been implying that she thought he was attractive, and the sad truth of it was that yes, she thought he was. But his physical appeal really hadn't catalyzed the moment between them only few minutes ago now, and Regan had realized it, so she'd backed away.

It had to do with the fact that she admired him for what he seemed to stand for, respected him for what he fought to do, and everything he'd already done for her and Shannon gave her what she considered those over dramatized feelings for him, the ones that were amplified by the situation at hand. There was no more motivation toward how drawn to him she'd felt in those moments than that, and she knew it would be an incredibly bad idea to give in and just let her currently strained emotions take control of her. Besides, she respected him, and somehow, she got the feeling that he was just as emotionally vulnerable because of everything going on as she was.

So giving in to something like that would have simply been insulting, and she owed him—as well as herself—a lot better.

They needed a subject change, and she could think of a million things to talk about. So without hesitation, she brought something up that had been bugging her all day long.

"Mind if I ask you something kind of random?"

Chris didn't hesitate, replying as he settled down at the sectional with the question, "What's that?"

"Well," she started, "you've been through a lot, so I was wondering if there was ever a time where things were incredibly bad, but somehow you still knew that you'd make it despite the odds?"

Once he was situated comfortably with his plate in front of him, he looked over at her and gave her the simple reply of, "Yeah," before drawing the memories up in his head.

"There was an assignment I had in 2003 where I led a team to Russia with Jill to attack the last standing and operational Umbrella facility and bring it down. Things got bad there, we lost some people, but the whole time I couldn't help thinking it was almost over for them. Maybe _my_ fight wasn't over completely, things could still go wrong in other places, but for Umbrella, it was just going to end, and I knew I was going to go back that night and crack open a six pack to celebrate."

After he told her that, he shrugged a shoulder and asked, "Why?"

"I don't know," Regan said with a soft sigh of breath. "I guess I just needed to hear a hopeful story. Seems like the closer we get to Dallas, the more certain I get we're just not going to make it, or we are but something's going to happen, that kind of thing."

"You're thinking about it too much," he told her while she walked over to settle down across from him, speaking in a way that said he didn't need to ask if he was right, he just knew he was. "That can trip you up."

"I know," Regan nodded. "I keep trying to focus on Shannon and keep her at the center of everything I do, but that kind of worry still slips in from time to time. God," she groaned and sat back, muttering out, "I've turned into my mother."

Something about that line made Chris smirk as he took a bite of his food. Nodding his head while chewing, he got the bite down before he commented, "I've caught myself channeling my uncle before. He always says it's me being my father though, not him. But Dad died when I was seven, so I don't remember everything about how he was that I could have otherwise."

"I'm sorry," Regan replied, looking back over the table at him. "Is that why you're so close to your sister?"

"Yeah. Both of my parents were killed in a car accident with a drunken driver running into them, and no one survived. Mom lasted for two days but the damage was too much, and Dad died on impact."

"That's..." Regan trailed with a cringe on her face, unable to imagine such a thing.

"Yeah, it's never been easy to think about, no matter how old I get," he replied in earnest. "Claire's lucky that way. She was only two and doesn't remember it at all. Afterward, I ended up raising her a lot because my uncle was in the Air Force and had us moving here and there, so they were busy a lot of times, and I wanted to make sure we didn't burden them too much. Because of that, we got really close."

He then let out a breath that said he was somewhat amused and sentimental at the same time over the next thought he'd had, which he spoke aloud, "Sometimes, when I look at Claire now, even when I talk to her, she reminds me of Mom. It's kind of strange."

Regan gave him a genuine smile and a nod, a look that said she thought the sentiment was endearing somehow. But she admitted, "Makes me feel a little guilty. I had my parents all my life and I hated them for most of it."

"Well, it depends on the parents," Chris responded. "Sometimes they're worthless, and sometimes they're not. Yours don't sound like they cared much about your wants or needs."

Regan scoffed. "True, but I don't know, in some places they could be okay. We did things from time to time, but over the years they both just got distant with me. I still don't know if it was because we thought differently or if it was just me growing up."

With a sigh of breath given, she considered the memories and then mused aloud, "But now that I have Shannon, I can see from a different perspective in some ways, and sometimes I look back on it and wonder if that hate I had for them was really just me hating myself for not trying harder."

"Even if it was, that doesn't mean they had to take some kid's word over yours, especially not when you're claiming you were raped." Chris didn't look like the thought settled well with him at all, and he asked, "Didn't they investigate the guy at least?"

Scoffing, Regan shook her head. "No, they didn't even want to let the neighbors know, let alone the police. They were more ashamed of my pregnancy than I was of the rape. I could've said something to someone myself, but why create even more drama, which was my mentality at the time. I went through the whole victim shaming thing and thought it was all my fault, felt like I'd let it happen to me. I thought that way for a long time too, even after Shannon was born. But taking his word over mine isn't something I will ever forgive them for no matter how ashamed I'd been back then, or how old I get now. Maybe that's immature of me, but I just can't."

"Doesn't sound immature to me," Chris replied. "I'd kill someone if they hurt my sister or some other woman I cared for that way. That's why, and no offense, but I can't even imagine what your parents were like."

"I don't doubt that one bit." Regan started tugging her legs up to settle them Indian style on the sectional after she spoke, then folding her arms over the table top, and she gave him a little more insight by saying, "But my parents were just socialites, successful with their businesses, and I have to admit that their marriage worked and they did well together. It was just doing well with their child that apparently confused them, or, like I said, _me_ not trying hard enough. Whatever."

Chris took that in, wondering which was the more likely scenario, but from judging by the way she was with her own daughter, he personally figured it was her parents who weren't trying hard enough.

Idly, he asked her, "When was the last time you heard from them?"

"Uh...," Regan drew out, bringing up a hand to settle her cheek against it as she thought. "I haven't kept up honestly. I think I last talked to my dad about a year and a half ago on the phone. Same silent, one worded type he always was." She looked at the top of the table then and mused aloud, "I wonder if they even survived this. I have no idea how hard Chicago was hit, or if they were even there when it started happening."

Chris had no idea either, but if a big city like that had been hit at all, and they were in it, chances are it would be bad. Still, he didn't want to just say that outright, even if Regan wasn't fond of her parents, and so he only shrugged his shoulders and gave her the suggestion, "Maybe you can find out in Dallas."

"Maybe," Regan replied, something in the way she'd said the words not quite conveying a sense of being completely sure she wanted to know what had happened to her estranged parents. As if to get off the topic as well, she asked Chris in return, "So what about you? When did you last talk to your family?"

"My birthday actually," Chris replied. "I was in New York City's BSAA office and the guys caught me off guard. They came in with this cake and started singing happy birthday, and these were guys who'd spent half of their life smoking," he chuckled out while Regan covered her face with her palm and started snickering, her expression one that Chris could agree with.

"Yeah, it was horrible," he mused with a small grin over the memory. "They had my aunt and uncle on speaker phone, singing right along with them. Good old George, he set it all up just to embarrass me."

"God." She snorted with a grin on her face over the story before glancing back at Chris and asking him, "When was this?"

"This November seventh," Chris replied. Then he added sarcastically, "I just turned thirty four and wanted to pretend it didn't exist, and here they come with cake and song."

"Well," she shrugged, "at least you know someone cares, _I guess_."

"I guess," Chris agreed with a chuckle. He began working on eating more of his food after speaking, then had a thought about the whole birthday and ages thing that surprised him just a little as he'd started chewing. After a moment, he looked over and asked Regan curiously, "Wait, you're...twenty four, right?"

"Will be in January," Regan replied. "But I know why you asked. Shannon makes people think I'm older."

"Yeah, you said you were fifteen when you had her, and I keep forgetting that part. I guess it doesn't help that you act so mature with her."

"Well, just wait and get us to Dallas where it's safe and come to see us sometime before you make _that_ judgment final," she chuckled out as if she knew something he didn't. "You'll probably find us both jumping on the couch and singing to the music playing, or eating popcorn while watching movies and painting our nails like typical girls."

Chris couldn't help grinning as she told him those things, realizing that he hadn't seen the complete picture of these two yet. All he'd gotten so far was the two of them trying to survive and take care of one another. It did make sense given the way Shannon normally was though, and he couldn't say he wasn't interested in seeing how they were whenever they got to Dallas.

So he told her, "Somehow, I think can see that."

"Well, I dish out the _mom_ commands, but I really try to manage a balance between being her mom and being her friend. I just don't want her to feel like she can't relate to me like I did with my own parents as I got older." With a dejected sigh of breath, she added as if it couldn't have been further from the truth, "That honestly scares the shit out of me."

Chris smiled at her, commenting honestly, "If it means anything, I don't think you have to worry. It seems like you're doing a damned good job of that to me. It's easy to see how much she loves and cares about you."

"Here's hoping. I don't want to overdo it either, but I get excited about stuff more than she does sometimes, like Christmas morning for example," Regan chuckled out in response. "That kind of makes me wonder how well balanced I actually do have it."

Smiling over the comment while pushing his plate to the side now that he was done with his food, the mention of Christmas got Chris to mutter out suddenly, "Hell, I forgot Christmas was coming with everything going on." When the notion hit him, he remembered something else that he mused aloud for conversation's sakes. "I was supposed to fly to Denver for a few days on Thanksgiving to spend it with my family too. Claire and I were both in the States at the same time for once, so we wanted to make sure we got to see one another again before we had to go somewhere else."

"You guys both do a lot of international travel everywhere?"

"Yeah, maybe too much. Sometimes I don't even remember what country I'm going to until I arrive at the airport. The signs there clue me in," he joked with a little smirk on his face. "Claire was in Japan in the late summer this year though while I was in Eastern Europe. So getting to see the family is a rare thing, even though all my uncle likes to do is embarrass us with the old photographs and videos whenever we do come back home."

Regan grinned over the comment, saying, "Don't feel bad, Clyde liked to embarrass me and Shannon with a particular video of us dancing on holidays. I think all parental types like doing that kind of thing." Idly, a thoughtful look came over Regan's face and she wondered aloud, "I wonder if I packed that or not. I really only went for the photo albums when we were going to Edgemont."

"You women and your pictures," Chris chuckled out as he started to grab the pack of cigarettes that Regan had just placed back onto the table while she cracked the window open to let the air pull the smoke outside. He then told her, "World's going to hell and you grab a photograph instead of a gun."

"Hey, first of all, I grabbed my rifle too okay," she retorted with a grin and sat back in a more relaxed fashion, lighting the cigarette she'd taken out. Getting a drag and blowing it to the window, she added the words, "Secondly, in my defense, I didn't know my neighbor was going to try to eat my kid after I let him into the house to use the phone. He was fine when he walked in. Or...so I thought."

Chris had heard things somewhat similar to that before. It was one of the things that made the infection so dangerous. If you didn't know someone had contracted the virus, it could be only a matter of moments before you met your demise.

As he'd had the thoughts, Regan added, "Sometimes I wonder how I actually _did_ manage to survive, come to think of it. Maybe a mixture of luck and determination I guess, who knows?"

Somehow, that made Chris smirk. "You know, my little birthday party was when I'd been informed about my mandatory vacation. If I hadn't gone to Wyoming, I'd be who knows where right now, maybe dead too. I hated that I was separated when this shit started, but I honestly think it's the biggest reason why I'm still alive. Seems like being alone gives you the best chance in some situations."

The line brought up a question in Regan's mind which she'd been meaning to ask him about, and now seemed like as good of a time as any. "By the way, you never explained that. _Mandatory_ vacation?"

Chris groaned suddenly, replying, "Yeah, apparently they thought I'd been pushing myself too hard and wanted me to take a week to relax."

"Why'd they think that?"

Chris thought about the reason why for a moment while lighting his own cigarette, then blew out the smoke through his nose and admitted, "I'd been pretty adamant about taking certain cases. I'd put myself anywhere I thought might give me more information about my partner."

Jill, Regan remembered, asking him, "Then you didn't think she was dead?"

"I wasn't sure," Chris responded. "I believed it because it seemed like the easiest thing to do, but I never completely accepted it as the truth. I did what I could, but I was never quite sure if it was just some kind of wishful thinking or not. Still, I _had_ to try to find her and make sure I knew what had happened."

Hearing this, Regan supplied, "So they took it as you being psychologically strained, or did they even know that was what you were doing?"

"They didn't know. If I'd told them, they would've done more than make me take a vacation. I guess it just seemed to them like I was overworking myself and they wanted me to ease up just a bit."

"Well, it's kind of ironic, isn't it? You get sent on vacation from secretly searching for your partner, then an outbreak happens during it and you find out something about her."

"Yeah, I'd thought of that," Chris replied, considering the whole situation. "Wesker hasn't told me everything yet either. He's only said she's alive and disabled. _Where_ she is," he paused to let out a sigh, then concluded, "that's another question."

Regan nodded a few times, able to tell that he was close to the woman, so she asked him something to try to take his mind off of his worry for her a little bit. "What was she like?"

Chris looked back over at her when the question hit his ears, and then thought about it for a moment. How did he sum Jill up into a few words? It wasn't easy considering what he knew about her, but he decided to give it a shot if for no other reason than it got his mind onto more pleasant thoughts.

"Well," he started, "I knew her for a long time, so it's hard to sum her up in a simple way. But she was dedicated, levelheaded, tended to think things through and figure problems out pretty fast. She was also loyal and determined, which makes me curious about how she's been disabled. Wesker said she was paralyzed in the fall, and I only wonder if she's been able to get back to walking again. Even if she has amnesia, I'm pretty sure she'd be too determined to give up on it."

That made Regan smile. She sounded like a good person to know, and a good friend to have, though that thought did prick her curiosity, and she couldn't help but give Chris an inquisitive look and ask him about it.

"You said you've known her for a long time." When he nodded in confirmation of that, Regan waved a hand and asked, "There wasn't ever anything _there_? You know, between you?"

Chris hadn't been sure what she was getting at for certain at first, but when she asked that question, he got the picture and smirked. "We were partners, close friends, and what time we did spend together outside of work, we ended up talking about work a lot. We knew each other as well as you can know anyone, but for us the job came first and our personal lives second."

After he'd talked about his relationship with his partner, he took a deep breath and sat back, just thinking it over. That's when he began to speak as if he weren't talking to Regan, and just telling the air around them his thoughts.

"Not that we didn't connect, but it was different somehow, and after everything that happened, getting a grip on anything like that was difficult for us to do. Sometimes I think if she and I hadn't been exposed to the kind of shit Umbrella liked to churn out, maybe something would've come up eventually, but all of that got in the way. Our lives changed too drastically, _we_ changed, and afterward, what we already had was enough for us to keep going."

"Still, with everything you'd been through, it seems like you'd understand one another pretty well," Regan pointed out.

"Yeah, we did," he agreed easily. "Maybe that was the whole reason why it was so different with her though, being the things we understood, things that we had to do and what we both thought was more important coming between us. I knew it, and Jill knew it too. It was just complicated, and we had a good thing going already."

Getting a more completed picture of the whole story now, Regan summarized it all by suggesting, "So it was like asking 'why fix it if it's not broken', huh?"

"Right. That's about it."

"I get it," she nodded, "and it sounds like you two probably kicked a lot of ass together," she added with a smile.

"We did our best," Chris told her more humbly than he'd been earlier when he'd poked fun at her so arrogantly.

The change made Regan smiled at him, and she then waved a hand with the words, "But I hope you don't mind me asking about it anyway."

When she mentioned that, curiosity started biting at Chris, and in a quizzically suspicious way, he asked her, "Why _did_ you ask?"

Seeing the expression he had, Regan quirked one of her eyebrows upward and shot back, "What? I was just curious. Wait," she said as if a thought had just hit her, and gave him a scrutinizing gaze. "Why, did it sound like I was asking for something in specific?"

"No, I just wanted to know," he replied, seeming amused by her answer. "I thought you might've been asking for some _other_ reason than just curiosity."

Regan smirked, but rolled her eyes at him over the teasing comment as she tugged her bottle of water up and sipped it, then started saying, "Oh, yes, I'm sure I have a secret agenda attached to asking you about it somewhere that involves some devious scheme to meticulously get information for," she shrugged, "whatever reason, and I just haven't thought one up yet. Give me some time, I'll get back to you about it." With that said, she gave him a sarcastic nod and then snorted softly over the comment.

Chris grinned, finding her comebacks amusing, as well as being a welcome distraction. But rather than continue the playful talk, he only got back onto the subject and said, "Honestly though, I'm just hoping that Wesker isn't lying, or if he's telling the truth, that she's alright now, no matter what happens. I don't think it'll be that simple though. Nothing ever is."

Regan gave him a somewhat bland expression along with a few nods of her head that said knew exactly where he was coming from and it was always distasteful to think about. "Let's just hope we hear helicopters again so you can find out about it sooner rather than later."

"I'm pretty sure we'll come across something soon now."

Regan hoped he was right about that, looking down at her arm laying across the table top, her other one up with a thumb against her cheek and her cigarette clutched between her fingers as she thought about how it might come about. As soon as she had something in mind to say over it as well, she smirked and looked up, her lips parted to speak, but she heard something sounding across the way which got her attention and stopped her from speaking altogether. Looking up, she spied the radio on the counter of the kitchen area, which was buzzing with a little static and had some unclear voices sounding on the other end.

Without question, she stood and placed her cigarette on the table so that the cherry was just off of the edge, and went to go and grab it. Chris was also watching, staying seated since she'd risen first, but when Regan brought it back over, he reached for it. She sat back down and handed it to him while the static continued to come in at random intervals.

"You think that's search and rescue again like before?"

"Might be," he replied, switching the channels up to see if he couldn't get a more clear signal. After a moment, he heard a very clear voice, but flipped past too fast to hear what it was saying. "Shit," he cussed and began to go in the other direction.

Regan waited patiently while he adjusted the channel, and then she looked up at his face as he also turned his gaze to her when they both started receiving a message loud and clear.

"_...ue broadcasting on all signals, respond if you're in range. I repeat, this is Dallas search and rescue broadcasting on all signals, come back._"

Some of the words were clouded by a bit of static, but other than that, the message was perfectly understandable. Chris didn't hesitate and lifted the radio, forgoing giving a formal response because he'd been MIA for so long now that there just didn't seem to be a point to it right then.

"This is Chris Redfield, we read you loud and clear, Dallas. Over."

They waited only a few moments to see if they'd been picked up, and surely enough, a voice replied to Chris on the other end.

"_Copy that, Chris, this is Captain Ajax who's damned glad he's not just talking to himself anymore._"

Regan and Chris both began to grin when they got the humorous response as plain as day, glad to hear someone so clearly from outside of the world of survival they'd been stuck in who could also hear them in return. Hopefully, things would all be over soon now, and they could relax and breathe easy once again.

But that feeling of dread that Regan had been having before was still gnawing at her gut regardless. She didn't know if it was just paranoia, a lack of experience dealing with these situations, or a legitimate concern, but she couldn't dismiss the thought that, with making the connection and hearing the search and rescue coming in so clearly on the radio, something else was coming, and it wasn't too far away.


	39. Blessings

_Chapter 38 - Blessings_

_ November 22__nd__, 2007_

_ Atlanta, Georgia_

_ 9:54 PM_

"Damn it!"

Claire cussed as she sat her wireless phone on the nightstand next to her bed. She would've thrown the thing if she wasn't afraid of breaking it, which definitely wouldn't help the situation of trying to get into contact with her MIA brother, so she controlled her frustration and merely settled it onto the wooden surface instead.

A whole week had passed since the world started going to viral hell, and still no answer. With a sigh of breath, he put her elbows to her knees and leaned her chin against her palms, trying not to worry so much that she made herself sick.

"I'll find you somehow, Chris," she said to herself, trying to convince her own spirit more than anything else.

She herself hadn't had an easy time of making it to Atlanta where she was currently staying. At the time of the outbreaks, she'd been in Norfolk, Virginia on business, and had even met up with a particular government agent a time or two to have what they considered a more normal meeting for once. Leon was in D.C., working as per usual, and had taken some free time off to go and see her, meeting at a cafe where they'd talked for hours about everything and nothing at all.

Then the outbreaks occurred and Claire once again found herself struggling for survival until a team had been sent in to extract a Virginian Senator. Though Claire hadn't been with the Senator, she had a number of other survivors with her that she'd been trying to keep safe. Leon was with the team sent out, and he'd gotten her, as well as the other survivors with her, to Atlanta where an emergency crisis plan had been instituted a few years prior to the global outbreaks that had started taking place.

Currently, Claire wasn't living alone completely. For now, she was staying with two families in a nicely large home belonging to an elderly lady named Charlaine Thatcher who had been kind and gracious enough to offer her abode to people currently in need. The two families also staying there had children, one couple with twin girls, and the other with a son who was getting close to being a teenager.

Claire was the only single survivor there.

After a week's worth of time, the outlook of the entire world was grim, and the military was going to extremes to see to it that as many people could be saved as possible. While Claire didn't get a front row seat, she'd been keeping up with current events, and the battles waging were horrendous. The number of deaths was only an estimate riding to six digits, and making the situation even worse were riots and panic, unhappy citizens trying to get the military and other government organizations to _do __something_, even though Claire knew personally that they were already doing everything they could.

She let out a breath where she sat and closed her eyes. She wanted to push it all out of her head, wanted to escape even her own mind, and though she was sitting safely behind four walls in a nicely comfortable bedroom, she felt like real comfort was millions of miles away and that she was in the middle of a war zone. That made pushing it out of her head all the more difficult to accomplish.

Opening her eyes again in order to find something to distract herself with before she tried for her brother once more, Claire glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand where she'd laid her phone to see that it was nearing on ten at night. Today was Thanksgiving, and she was supposed to be in Denver with Chris right now, complaining about eating too much of Aunt Tracy's turkey and struggling with George to make him put away the embarrassing photos that he sometimes liked to use to embarrass them both.

Instead, she was staying in Atlanta, her aunt and uncle were in Dallas, and no one knew where Chris was. The thought put tears in her eyes that she tried to hold back as much as she could, only succeeding so much as the wetness trailed down her cheeks silently.

Wiping her eyes, Claire knew she needed to count her actual blessings and remember that Chris was strong, and he wouldn't be brought down so easily. Connections had been bad, but that only left her in the dark, which allowed the worst case scenario to eat at her mind like an all night buffet. But she'd never believe Chris was dead no matter how bad she thought the situation was. Not until she had proof positive, saw it for herself, Claire Redfield would never give up on her missing brother.

So she tried to remember that, keep in mind that her aunt and uncle had made it, that she had made it, and she was honestly with good company. Charlaine Thatcher, who owned the home she was staying in now, had let the couples staying in her home make a nice meal for the holiday. No one had really felt like celebrating anything however, but they cooked for the sake of the children with them. It was important to try to continue on with _some_ kind of normal tradition in place so that they could feel safer and more at ease.

The children did seem to enjoy it as well, and Claire was glad to see the smiles on their faces and hearing them laughing and telling jokes and stories at the dinner table despite the horrors so recently unleashed on the world at large.

The whole time though, her mind was on the outside world and her brother, and also, on Leon S. Kennedy.

Leon hadn't been able to stay in one place for too long after they'd first made it to Atlanta. He'd been back and forth, to Texas where the metropolis of the three major cities Dallas, Huston, and San Antonio were all being kept as virus-free as possible, and also to other locations to try to stop incidents before they could occur. But he was actually staying in Atlanta where the Vice President was also residing. The President himself had become infected, but she wasn't sure about the details. Claire also hadn't asked Leon about it either because she didn't really need to know _how_ it had happened. Just knowing it had was enough.

But because of Leon's living conditions now, Claire actually saw him much more often over the past week than she had since she'd meet him in Raccoon City in 1998.

He came by to see her and see how she was doing every free chance he got, even going so far as to come by while on the way to another place, calling first to make sure she knew he was going to swing by in a hurry and find out if she wasn't too busy to spare a moment or two. Claire appreciated the effort he put in, and could only wonder if he knew how much so. She thought it was amusing as well that he didn't just say what he had to say on the phone.

Instead, he would call, give her an ETA, and then arrive a few minutes later just to tell her a few things before he had to go.

She didn't know _why_ he did it like that, but she was glad for it. Also, she was worried. What they faced now was a bigger threat than any they'd faced previously, and with her brother missing, Claire didn't want anything to happen to Leon too. He felt like the only thing familiar she had in Atlanta, and she couldn't make up her mind if that were depressing or endearing, but she was grateful for it.

A week of this kind of nightmare was really starting to take its toll on her emotions in any case. Claire would never give up or let go of what hope she could gather, and she'd never allow those in her presence to believe everything was a lost cause. She'd give them some kind of beacon they could cling to and stand strong for their sakes, and it wasn't just because she wanted to, but because she _had_ to.

When she was alone like this though, she felt like crying until she just couldn't anymore.

Before she could let her thoughts go any further in that direction though, a knock came to the door. Claire looked up from where she sat on the bed, thankful for the interruption, and cleared her throat before wiping her cheeks and saying as normally as possible, "Come in."

The door opened, and Charlaine was standing there, a very short, older lady with what had been classically good looks in her youth, and snow white hair pulled up into a well kept bun. Charlaine was as sweet as a woman could be though, if not very proper and well spoken, and Claire liked her a hell of a lot.

As she stepped into the doorway in her white blouse and black slacks, she asked Claire, "Are you up for any company, dear? You've got a visitor."

"Sure," she nodded, though she was uncertain who might've come by to see her so late in the evening, not that she had many options of people she knew to choose from.

Charlaine gave Claire the answer to her unspoken question by stepping out of the way, revealing that Leon was waiting outside now. Finally, Claire felt like smiling as he walked in, and the older lady behind him shut the door to let them have their time talking.

"Hey, Claire," he started as the door had shut, looking back at it briefly, and then ahead at Claire once again. "Thought I might come by to say Happy Thanksgiving."

Claire smiled, giving Leon a slow nod of her head while she told him as equally meaningfully, "Happy Thanksgiving, Leon."

Looking him over, normally dressed and wearing a brown jacket made of suede with a wool lining around the collar and a dark blue shirt beneath it along with a pair of black cargo pants on, Claire realized that he looked rugged just then, as if he might be a little bit tired and needed a shave. But he still looked as good as Claire always thought he did, even when he was a little more rough around the edges in appearance.

In comparison, she felt she probably looked pretty boring and dull, her hair in a ponytail at the base of her neck, wearing a short sleeved top that was a light pink color along with a pair of jeans and socks. Still, this wasn't dress to impress time, so she paid it no attention and only focused on him and the question he asked after she'd wished him a happy holiday despite the condition of the world currently.

"Mind if I sit?"

"Of course not," she replied, standing from where she'd settled herself on the mattress of the bed before she walked over to a chair at the desk across from it. She moved her coat which she'd laid over the arms so that he could have somewhere to sit, and realized she'd been too busy staring at him to think about offering him somewhere to sit down just a moment beforehand. But the thought only amused her as she was glad to realize she hadn't lost her mind to worry so much that she couldn't still enjoy the rugged good looks of a man she thought was attractive.

She took the red garment that was her coat to the dresser not far from the door and simply hung it over the knobs on the front, asking as she did so, "You're not busy right now?"

"I was," Leon replied, walking to the chair she'd cleared for him, pulling it away from the desk to settle it closer to the bed before seating himself down for what felt like the first time that he could remember in quite a while now. He watched Claire walking back across the room to the bed where she sat down in the same spot she'd been at before, which was about five feet away from his own seat currently.

Once she was settled, he added the words, "As we speak, they're reassigning me."

"Reassigning you?," Claire asked curiously. "To what?"

"Domestic affairs. They're redefining what that means now and considering anything outside of quarantined cities to be akin to foreign territory until enough of an area can be sterilized to declare it livable. They want me to stay in Atlanta and keep things going smoothly here rather than risk sending me out anymore for the time being. Besides, they've gotten some leads they need me to work on, so I won't be leaving Atlanta again unless it's for Dallas."

"They don't want to lose your skills either, it sounds like," Claire summarized, and she watched Leon giving a solemn, slightly vague nod of his head. The look was a bit forlorn, and Claire couldn't figure out precisely _why_. So she asked, "Are you not happy with that?"

"It's not that," Leon said as if he hadn't been drifting in thought at all. He looked back over at her and explained, "I know I could help just as much staying inside the zones as being sent out into the field."

"Then why do you look so dejected? I mean, about this in particular."

"Just the state of the world," he told her solemnly, and it _was_ a good reason to be in such a mindset. Leon shrugged though, letting out a sigh of breath as if ready to change the subject.

"But that's not important right now," he started, "and definitely not the reason I came here tonight. I wanted to see how your day went, and ask if you'd managed to call Chris yet."

Claire knew that if she'd been able to get in touch with Chris, Leon would probably know about it before she herself did. That might have been an exaggerated way to put it, but Leon got his hands on information before most people, yet he still asked her about it as if he wanted _her_ to tell him for herself, wanted to see what kind of emotion she might display if she were to say _yes, he finally answered the phone, and I found out he was fine all along_.

It also gave him an excuse to come by and see her, and Claire knew that though it was an unspoken excuse, Leon used it because he wanted to make sure _she_ was doing okay as well. He probably did it to distract himself from his own inner turmoil too.

So she answered without any hesitation, saying, "We cooked dinner for the children and they had a lot of fun. But no, Chris still hasn't answered the damn phone. It just keeps dropping the line."

"Well, I'll be in Atlanta a lot more now," Leon told her in response. "So I'll try to swing by and get you somewhere that might have better reception."

Not all places were currently accessible to civilians, of which Claire qualified as, and hearing this made her sigh out a breath with the emotion of gratitude she felt to him for even offering it. She couldn't turn that offer down either, and said, "Thank you. I can't stand much more of this whole _not knowing_ thing. I mean, even if something _did_ happen, and he's really been hurt, I'd rather know about it than be left in the dark."

"Trust me, I know what you mean. Some news is better than none, even when it's bad news. You don't feel like you're stuck in neutral anymore when you know, and you can at least take some kind of action."

Claire nodded slowly because Leon had just hit the nail right on the head. That was precisely how she felt. With a groan of breath, she added, "The only good thing about it is that we _know_ Chris left Pinedale in his car. Maybe he's trying to make it to Dallas now. That would be his closest shot at finding some place safe. But that's a long damned way to drive."

"Also," Leon added for her, "don't forget that he's too smart to just stop and risk losing what transportation he _does_ have to go to an airport and try to commandeer some kind of aircraft to fly to Dallas, so you know why it would take him so long to get there."

Slowly, a smile worked its way onto Claire's lips. Leon was right, and the thought _did_ help. Chris wasn't a greenhorn after all, he was experienced enough to know what he would need to do and what his best chances at survival were. Claire didn't have a hard time trying to remind herself of that though, she just had a hard time trying to keep her anxiety to a minimum and simply not worry. Waiting so long wasn't making that endeavor any easier.

"I know," she nodded. "He'd probably chastise me for worrying so much anyway."

"No, I think he'd probably be just as glad to know that you're alright too."

"Oh shit," Claire suddenly cussed when Leon said that, giving him a grief stricken look. "I didn't even think about that. All this time, I've been worrying about _him_, and it escaped me that he has no idea whether or not _I'm_ alright."

"Well, it's not as if we've ever been through an outbreak of this size before, Claire. Things are hitting everyone hard and suddenly," Leon reminded her, then he shook his head. "Don't worry if you didn't think about it right away."

"I...," Claire sighed, then looked down. "I know. I just...damn it, I don't want to talk about it, but at the same time, it's all I can think about." She looked back over at Leon and added, "It's like the apocalypse has started, and I feel like there's nothing I can do at _all_."

The look Leon had on his face was sympathetic, understanding, and concerned, and it made Claire look back down and continue to speak with her gaze directed at the floor because of the way the look made her feel inside. "I just wish I could be more active in fighting against this."

"You're still doing your part, Claire. You're getting people set up once they've been brought out of harm's way, and that's important right now." After he said that, Leon smirked without warning, and Claire noticed the expression just before he said, "Besides, I like having you here where you're safe. Gives me one less thing to worry about."

Claire wanted to smile, but somehow, she couldn't. She wasn't entirely sure why, but though he'd meant the line to have at least a little humor attached to it, it touched her and she couldn't ignore it.

"Thank you, Leon," Claire started in earnest. "I'm starting to get tired of saying that, but I have to. If it weren't for you being here, I don't know what I'd do."

Leon seemed to watch her quietly for a few moments after she spoke, and Claire tried to figure out what he might've been thinking, but he had a fairly good poker face that he could sometimes use, and seemed to be wearing it now.

She didn't have to guess at his thoughts however because he didn't take long to make a response. "I should be thanking you too, Claire."

"How so?," she asked uncertainly.

"Because if I didn't have you to come and check on, I probably would've already lost my mind to grief too." He didn't make a sound when he paused after that line, only cast his eyes to the side and added somewhat reluctantly, "I didn't want to bring that kind of thing here, but I've been on the edge for several days now, trying like hell to keep a grasp on some normal aspect of my life before all of this started. Not a day's gone by where I haven't run into someone infected, or watched a good person die because of these outbreaks, and..."

He trailed, then took in a deep, slow breath. Looking back over at the redhead settled across from him, his expression serious in a sincere sort of way, meaningfully he finally finished his statement.

"Coming to see you helps, Claire. It doesn't make everything go away, but it makes it easier to handle somehow. While I want to protect as many as I can, casualties are going to happen. That's just the way it is now. But you're here, and you're safe. It makes me feel like I did _something_ right."

He didn't look away from her, but he did drop his gaze for a moment in thoughtfulness before slowly raising it back up and adding pointedly, "You said you feel like you're helpless because you can't pick up a gun and fight. Well, I promise you _I'm_ going to fight like hell to keep you from having to."

Claire didn't have any words to say to him in response. All she could do was stare for a moment, then finally get out, "Leon...," before she remembered to breath. The truth was that she wanted to hug him, emotion welling up inside of her to the point that it felt like it was going to bust out of her chest, and she couldn't help it at all. This had been the most horrible week of her life, and hearing him saying something so endearing and meaningful wasn't something she could ignore.

Almost breathlessly, she replied on a soft tone of voice, "I wish you wouldn't say things like that."

"It's just the truth," Leon said, though something in his expression told her that he was feeling very much the same way that she was in that moment. "I care about what happens to you, Claire. You're like the only part of this world left that makes sense to me anymore. That's why I never talk to you on the phone. I want to come _see_ you, even if it's only for a few minutes before I have to run back out into the hellhole the world's turned into now."

Tears began to well in her eyes which she blinked away as much as she could, losing the ability to speak in that moment. Trying to gain it back, she was ready to ask him if he had any idea how the words he'd said made her feel, but she realized he'd moved without much sound while she'd been trying to regain her composure, and had gone to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.

She looked over at him as he settled down, and without a word, she reached over and hugged him tightly. Her hands went around his back, her fingers gripping into the jacket he wore without realizing it, and she just held on as if her life might've depended on it. A tough girl, that was Claire Redfield; a girl who, despite the odds, had learned enough to keep herself safe and survive danger many times. But she was still human, and what Leon had just told her was the most touching, as well as flattering thing she'd ever been told before.

They were both quiet, and she felt his hold returned as he'd lifted his arms around her sides. Their embrace was a tight one, and after several moments in that position, Claire finally managed to say something that didn't sound as if she were struggling for breath or thought.

"I'd say I don't think you know how much I needed to hear that, but you'd probably know it better than anyone."

She heard an amused breath being exhaled from his mouth not long after she'd spoken those words, followed by admitting, "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner, I just thought it would sound selfish if I told you I didn't only come by just to make sure you were okay. I needed to do it for myself as well."

"I needed you to do it for me too," she replied, lifting her head back slowly. Once she was looking at him again, she added, "The only thing I _don't_ know is if you'd mind if I kissed you for saying that."

Claire could barely finish getting the words out of her mouth before she found his lips pressing against hers, and it sparked a reaction in her quickly. She pressed into him and shut her eyes, parting her lips and letting out a soft moan as their tongues met and stroked into one another, sending a shock of heat through the both of them that made them hold onto each other tightly.

It was filled with emotion and it was heated. Claire only barely noticed when he'd reached down to tug her legs across his lap so he could pull her in more closely to kiss her more easily, and she didn't care either. She only let a feminine moan against his lips and heard him making a soft groan in response, her fingers tangling in the back of his hair while his own hand cradled the back of her head against her ponytail.

Breathless and washed up with one another for long, blissfully ignorant moments of the rest of the world, the kiss broke apart slowly, but they didn't. Claire continued to hold herself against him, her face resting against his neck and shoulder, and she heard him rasping out her name against her ear. It sent a shiver through her to hear that, and then the thought dawned on her in that moment just how much Leon needed something warm and familiar as well.

It wasn't that she hadn't considered it before, but the actual amount that he _did_ need it became clear just then. He'd been out there dealing with the world everyday for the past week, and the way he was holding to her now, his grip as tight as she thought he might be able to make it without simply suffocating her, told her everything she sought to know about it. It only got her desire to somehow make things better for him, even if only for a little while, to grow that much stronger.

So she didn't feel one bit badly now about admitting anything to him. She said exactly how she felt without reservation.

"I don't want to be alone tonight, Leon."

He took in a deep breath, his nose against her temple, and she felt him kissing her cheek before she heard him saying, "Neither do I. But I don't know how well your landlord might take to you having company for as long as I'd want to stay."

Finally, Claire smiled for the first time in what felt like a while. Lifting her head up, her cheek brushing his as she sat back just a bit, she asked, "Then where are you staying?"

"The Radisson downtown right now," he replied.

"Will it be trouble if I break curfew to go with you?," she asked, meaning the curfew that civilians now had under martial law to be at home by a certain hour in the evening.

"No," Leon shook his head, holding her gaze as he explained, "not with me, the soldiers wouldn't stop us if they saw us."

Claire looked him over, giving a slow nod of her head. "Then let me come stay with you tonight."

"If I do that, I might not let you leave, Claire."

"Who says I'd complain?," she asked with a smirk on her face, and watched a smile take over his in return. Though the amusement was a welcome distraction, it didn't last long before Claire shook her head and added, "I don't think Mrs. Thatcher would have a problem either way, but," she trailed and then shook her head slowly like she might've changed her mind about it. "Maybe I shouldn't intrude."

"I'm the one who's intruding here. Besides," he sighed, looking her face over as if he were trying to memorize it detail by detail before saying as sincerely as she'd ever heard someone speaking, "I _need_ you."

Claire stared back at him, her expression blank because she couldn't think again. She could tell he hadn't meant the words in a give and take manner, or some other way that was merely about physical need. He meant that he needed her in any way he could manage to have her, and it was almost heart wrenching to actually be able to hear the sound of that need on his voice when he'd spoken. It brought back the thoughts of everything he'd been through in the past week, the horrors he'd been witnessing again, the same that she had seen herself which she'd never forget for as long as she lived.

More importantly, she'd never forget how he'd told her he needed her just now.

So instead of speaking, she simply acted by leaning in and pressing another kiss to his lips, one that didn't last quite as long as the first, but still involved the intensity as she swiped her tongue over his lips and then against his with a few breathless strokes.

Breaking it before she could get washed up in their actions even more than she already was, she told him, "Let me get my shoes on and my bag so we can go."

With a slow smile turning up the corners of his mouth, Leon gave her a nod, and then stood up, lifting her along with him so he could settle her on the floor and she wouldn't have to get up on her own. Claire had gasped a soft bit over the unexpected movement, but she just smiled at him and then nearly forgot to walk away so that she could go get her things.

It didn't take her long either, and on the way out with her coat and shoes back on, her duffle bag being totted over her shoulder, she stopped to go and tell Charlaine where she was going while Leon waited by the door. They had a story to tell the elderly woman about their plans so things wouldn't seem too, well, improper, and it was one that made a lot of sense.

Not long later, Leon was driving back to the hotel in his jeep, which had a specialized stamp across the corner of the window that would let the night patrols know he had authorization to break curfew whenever he needed to. There was also a second tag on the back of his car for the same purpose, which was the reason they were never pulled over.

Claire thought that it was strange to see so many of the military patrolling the streets in full gear and completely armed, trying to keep things as safe as possible. All of them were wearing gas masks, and they even had tanks settled in some of the intersections of more major roadways, making her think of a proverbial war zone. But it was all necessary. Vaccinations were still being administered, and just one zombie or other kind of B.O.W. could start a domino effect that would rip the city in half until everyone had been inoculated.

Leon wasn't completely affected by seeing all of the military about. Though he wasn't used to seeing it in the city in specific, he was glad for their presence, glad some things had been saved and were under protection. But he looked down when he felt a hand on his which he'd rested against the arm of the driver's seat, then glanced over at Claire.

She wasn't looking at him just then, but instead, out at the scenery and had apparently taken his hand without realizing it. Military was everywhere during the daytime as well, but she probably hadn't expected to see tanks in the intersections and so many that were so heavily armed keeping order, ready to question anyone who left their home without authorization, and also prepared to, if necessary, even shoot them if they were uncooperative.

Turning his hand, he folded his fingers around hers and gave a soft squeeze. That got her attention, and she looked over to see that she'd taken his hand without even thinking about it, hearing him asking her, "You alright?"

"Yeah," she nodded, then took in a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"It's strange, I know."

"That's an understatement," Claire returned on a slightly flat tone of voice. "But I'd rather see them than not."

"Same here," he agreed, then turned his fingers to thread them through hers, a movement that made her smile.

She left her hand right there as they drove to the hotel where he was staying, which turned out to be a very nice establishment. The military had seized it to use for their personnel, and to a lesser degree as temporary housing if they couldn't find anywhere else to shelter survivors for the time being, and Leon had a room on the upper levels of the building. He parked his car in the deck next to the place, and before he got out, he gave Claire a look that somehow seemed dejected, pricking her curiosity.

"What's wrong?"

"I hate to say this, but in public, I'd rather not seem too close to anyone. There's nothing in the city that we _know_ about, but right now I want to keep all my personal interests as quiet as possible regardless, just in case."

That was because anyone could see her, whether it was now or on surveillance later, and try to use her against him if they knew or even thought he cared about her. Claire could realize that, and she gave him an understanding smile and nodded her head. "How about I argue with you? Make it seem like I'm only here for business?"

Leon smirked, saying, "That's not necessary, though it _would_ be funny."

Grinning, Claire grabbed her phone instead, telling him, "I'll just keep trying to call Chris on the way in. That should give off a little uncertainty, and who knows, maybe he'll actually answer this time around."

With the phone in hand, she got out of the car with Leon and, though she wanted to, she kept her distance and attempted to look as professional as possible while placing the call to her brother to see if the line might actually connect, though, she did qualify that if the line actually connected, looking professional would be the last thing on her mind.

While she moved, Leon took her duffle from the backseat for her—that wasn't important as the duffle could've belonged to anyone—and led her inside of the hotel's lobby and to the elevator where he pressed the button to go up.

The calls Claire tried to place on the way, once again, never connected, and she idly took in her surroundings while she tried. The whole place was nicely lit, chandeliers and marble floors, almost making Claire feel a little out of her element. But that was a sensation that she was getting used to with all things considered, and she walked onto the elevator with Leon once the doors had opened, finally pocketing her phone altogether after three more tries to get into touch with her brother because she got the feeling the reception would be even worse inside of it than in the lobby.

The room they had Leon shacked up in currently was definitely nice, if not a bit impersonal due to the situations at hand. But Claire walked in and looked around, slowly starting to smirk before she turned her head to look back at Leon as he was shutting the door. When he was done, and turned around to see her looking in his direction, he pocketed his key card and began to walk over to her.

"Somehow this place feels nicer already with you in it."

"You probably say that to everyone," Claire replied playfully, watching as he came to a stop in front of her, apparently making up for the lack of closeness they'd had during the walk up to his room.

"No, I don't. Though, it's true, I'd be happy with any company right now," he teased.

"Oh, well, should I go find someone random to bring up and keep you occupied then?"

They were both smiling, and Leon gave her a look that said he was not-so-seriously considering it, then nodded his head. "Sure, but you know if you did, I'd just ignore him the entire time in favor of you."

"Oh." Claire smirked, stepping in and slipping her arms around his sides, something he'd already began to do in return, holding the handle of her duffle in both hands behind her lower back.

"In that case, I guess I won't need to waste the time, will I?"

"We've wasted enough time, don't you think?"

Though she was nodding, she was do so vaguely, and it didn't last long. Too much emotion was welling up between them, and she leaned up suddenly just as he leaned down when they began kissing each other passionately. Without thought, Leon tossed her duffel aside which landed right in one of the recliners with a slight bounce before fully wrapping his arms around her.

The bedroom door opened up suddenly with the couple still lip locked as they moved into the room, but Leon didn't go for the bed. Instead, he turned and lifted Claire up onto the dresser which was closer than the bed, the surface of which had nothing across it save for a few decorative candle holders that belonged to the hotel and were knocked over and onto the floor in the process.

Claire didn't pay them any mind, and she didn't take the time out to look around the room either when Leon broke the kiss to press more against her cheek and neck. She was too busy grabbing onto him, returning the kisses, to pay attention to much of anything in that moment.

It was desperate on both their parts, and Claire grabbed his jacket and pushed it off, getting his arms from being hooked around her for long enough that she could accomplish that before letting the garment fall to the floor carelessly. Once it had been tossed to the side, Leon reached for her upper arms and held them still, breaking the kisses he'd been placing along her throat as he lifted his head back up to look at her.

Both of them were panting, and as their gazes locked, Leon told her, "I need to know if you feel like this is too much too soon, Claire."

Claire knew what he meant. Wasting time and jumping into bed together were two different things entirely, and she heard him saying as much. "I want you here, but I can't rush this if it's something we'll regret. Hurting you is the last thing I—," he stopped when she pressed two fingers over his lips and leaned in, kissing his cheek gently.

"You won't hurt me, Leon. I'd only regret _not_ being here with you. I care about you too much to regret this, especially now. I need you too."

It made sense, but Leon was having a little trouble processing anything in that moment due to how close he was to her. The emotion in his eyes and expression on his face said as much. When she removed her fingers from his lips, he was just about to lean back in to kiss her with the promise that he would never hurt her if he could help it when she stopped him by taking off her own jacket, and then reached down to tug her shirt up and off of her chest.

The movement left her in a white, lace bra that he couldn't stop staring at, forgetting what the hell they'd been talking about altogether, or what had been so important that he'd needed to say anything at all outside of the word '_damn_'.

He briefly wondered for a second if that was skin he was looking at or porcelain, and the expression on his face made Claire feel as if she were not only desirable, but also even more aroused because it was so intense. He looked as if, at any moment, he might snap and grab her, and that kind of anticipation sent her blood burning through her veins like fire.

She reached behind her back to grab the clasps and remove her bra, but just before she could get there, Leon slipped one arm around her back and took the strap on her shoulder to tug it off as his lips began to brush over hers with several slow kisses against them. His hand moved down across her shoulder, lowering the strap until it the garment was just barely concealing her breast when he slipped his palm over it. He covered her soft skin with his hand, finding the newly bared tip with his fingers, which he brushed and then lightly pinched until it was straining.

The movements had gotten Claire breathless and made her feel desire pooling between her legs even more than before. Her eyes closed as she whispered his name so softly she could only wonder if he'd heard it while slipping her fingers up his back and pushing them beneath his shirt.

Leon released her breast when he realized then that not only had he ignored removing his own shirt, but also, he was still wearing his gun straps. So he went to tug those off first, which took just a little longer than normal because he had trouble keeping his eyes off of Claire. But once done, he set the harness on the surface of the dresser, just as he felt Claire tugging his shirt up, which he then took to help her out, getting it off and discarding it into a pool of clothe with the rest of their currently shed clothing laying on the floor.

Claire still had her bra on, but he didn't waste the time in getting that the rest of the way off as well. One half had already been tugged down to expose her right breast, and he reached behind her and grabbed the clasp as he kissed her again, getting it undone without a problem before he pulled it off and tossed it away carelessly.

Claire pulled him in the moment he had, pressing her bared chest into his and closing her eyes over the way it felt to be in contact with him skin to skin. He felt hard and smooth all over, and she rubbed against him while she'd started to kiss his neck, hearing him let out a masculine groan in response as her lips drew around his currently scruffy jaw and his own hands drew up her back.

She felt them heading to her hair where he took the band of her ponytail in order to pull it free and grew still to let him. Her eyes closed as she waited with her lips and nose brushing the center of his chest, simply reveling in the way it felt to be that close to him as he gently undid the tie in order to keep it from tugging on her hair.

Finally, Leon got it all free, wasting no time in running the fingers of both his hands through the deep red strands as if he'd always wanted to, making it fan out around and just past her shoulders.

"I've wanted to do that all night."

"What?," she asked in response just to hear what he'd say, her voice as breathless as his was.

"Pull your hair down, see how it looks like this, run my fingers through it," he told her as if being able to see it free finally was something he'd thought about before, and the fact that she usually kept it up might've irritated him in some way.

Claire looked up at his face as he combed it with his fingers and admired her for a moment before he leaned down and hooked his arms beneath her legs. She took his shoulders as he lifted her from the dresser and finally turned to carry her over to the four poster, king sized bed across the way. The covers over it were all a dark red color, nearly matching her hair, and Leon settled her on the mattress as she leaned back while he went for the button of her jeans, still standing at the side of the bed.

Claire couldn't even think. She panted through parted lips, mindlessly kicking off her shoes one by one while watching her jeans coming undone at his hands before he tugged them down with a few short jerks, leaving her in her white panties. When her pants were gone, she reached over and took the waist of his own pants into her hands and undid his fly while he'd turned the upper half of his body away momentarily to toss her jeans into their clothing pile.

Leon looked back at her when he felt that, his chest rising and falling as he drew breath, steeling himself against reacting too suddenly to the sight of the woman he wanted so badly undoing his pants for the first time, unable to ignore how hard he felt himself getting in response. He did take her shoulders in a somewhat tight grip though when she pressed her hand into the crotch of his pants after they were open, rubbing her palm into him slowly.

That got him to let out a rugged groan as his eyes closed, stroking his thumbs into her arms while he felt his pants opening to reveal the length of arousal he had, which he realized sooner rather than later that Claire seemed to have more than just a passing interest in. He felt her smooth fingers slipping around it, squeezing it, getting him to take in several deep breaths before he groaned out her name on a deeply masculine tone of voice, trying not to squeeze her arms too tightly while he let her inspect him.

Claire realized that Leon had a good bit of girth to offer, and she stroked it up and down slowly, his skin heated in her fingers as she leaned in and parted her lips around the swollen cap, feeling him jerking just slightly like he hadn't expected to feel her soft lips and her tongue sucking over it like that completely.

Opening his eyes after a groan of pleasure left his throat, he looked down at her to see her watching his reactions intently as well, staring up at him with those big blue eyes as she'd lifted her head back, and the look on her face got a flood of desire to rush through him harder than he'd had yet. Hell, he couldn't remember having that kind of desire for a woman before.

"Too soon?," she asked softly, and Leon realized that he had to stop her, or his game would be over long before it started. That aside, he was so ready to hear her moaning his name and feeling her writhing he couldn't stand it.

Claire wasn't even sure what had happened. One moment she was touching him and working her way to giving him what she felt he both needed as well as what she personally wanted to learn more about, and the next, she was on her back with him over her on the bed, kissing her mouth hard and unrelentingly, then getting kisses placed down her throat and across her breasts until she felt one of her nipples being sucked and scraped lightly with his teeth as he groaned against her.

"Leon!," she gasped out in response to the urgent movement and arched her back upwards, wrapping her arms around him and lifting her legs at his sides.

He lifted his head to move to her other breast so he could give it that same attention before she felt his fingers wandering between her thighs, over the crotch of her panties, making a flood of desire surge through her. She sucked in a deep breath that the forgot to exhale when those digits slipped into her panties, running her hands down his arms and to his waist, gasping when he parted seam of her sex, pressing the pad of his fingers into the swollen nub hidden there, which got her to jerk.

He didn't stop, stroking circles the little button hard and slow, exploiting it to make her writhe against him just the way he'd wanted her to. It felt so damned good when she did that he couldn't help but groan her name as he lifted his head, looking down at her face. When he saw the overwhelmed pleasure displayed there, he began to rub the length of his index against it faster until she bucked and whimpered out his name.

"Leon, stop! Ah!," she panted as it got so sensitive she couldn't stand it, moaning lowly when he slowed down and pushed his fingers against the slick entrance of her sex instead.

"You're so damned wet, baby," he murmured to her when he felt it, rubbing just inside of her walls then, making her draw her nails across his back lightly.

"You're driving me crazy," Claire returned as if giving the reason for it, leaning up to kiss him again with a full, open mouthed kiss that was anything but tame.

He groaned into her mouth as he pushed it deeper inside of her and began to draw it halfway in and out slowly, the tightness he felt on his finger alone getting him even more ready, not to mention the way she grabbed him and let a loud moan into his mouth. That got him to slowly add a second finger, surging them both more deeply together.

The kiss broke as he did that, and she panted out the words, "Stop teasing me, Leon, I can't stand it. I want you _now_."

"Wanna make sure you're ready first," he replied softly, something about the words sounding as if they'd only been given in excuse to keep going like this.

"I am!," she rasped back, grabbing his wrist as she took his fingers in and out again and again more deeply than before. "Ahh, please, stop and...," she trailed as she forgot what she'd been about to ask while the pleasure between her legs wracked her entire body.

He pushed them all the way inside of her with the next thrust, asking as if to finish her sentence for her, "Go faster?"

"Yeah," she whimpered out mindlessly, only barely realizing what she'd just said when his fingers started thrusting faster, jerking in response. "No! I mean...I...ohh...I want...uhh, Leon!"

"Mmm, is that good for you, sweetheart?"

"I...ahh...yes!," she rasped, lifting her head back as he began to circle her clit with his thumb. "Uhh...!"

He watched her every movement, completely enthralled. Seeing this was more than he could've asked for, watching her writhing for him and so wracked with pleasure that she couldn't think straight, felt her clenching at his digits while he drove them inside of her deep and hard.

Without any remorse, he told her, "I want to see you come, Claire, just like this."

She was beyond being able to speak, arching her back again as he continued working between her legs with her panties rolled up around her thighs now, giving him better access. So when he leaned down and sucked a nipple into his mouth again while she grabbed and clutched at him, she'd looked down, able to see his hand working between her legs. The pleasure grew to snapping as she watched his fingers pushing and stroking into her.

He was just about to get what he wanted.

"Fuck! Leon, I'm...ah, please!"

"Come on, baby, do it for me," he said after he'd lifted his head, continuing the exact same, hard pace between her open thighs that he'd been working at as she instinctively squirmed her hips, their lips parted closely only a few inches apart as he watched her face.

Suddenly it happened, and she bucked hard, making him latch his arm around her to hold her still while he pushed in and out of her tight walls until the spasms stopped, working her as hard as he could to keep it going for as long as possible. He couldn't find the words to describe the way she looked as she came for him if he'd wanted to. She'd gushed against his searching fingers and cried out the intensity of the pleasure she'd felt, thrashing her head to the side until the spasms started dying away. His name sounded more than once during the course of the pleasured explosion.

When the waves wracking her body finally did die down, her muscles grew about as limp as a rag doll in the aftermath, panting and dazed. It was during those mindless moments that she felt a little shifting coming out of Leon, but she didn't know what he was doing because her eyes had been shut in her recovery. She did feel her panties coming off of her legs the rest of the way however, and finally managed to look up at him to realize that he'd removed his pants completely as well.

He'd moved down just a ways in order to get the rest of their clothing off as he had, and then turned to her, grasping her legs by the backs of her knees. Claire didn't offer any resistance when he pulled her across the mattress toward himself and leaned over her. She only leaned up and kissed him intently and lovingly as he reached to cradle the back of her head and hold her right there.

Her legs had parted around his sides during that kiss, and she felt him pressing his hips down between them as he settled over her. When he did, the thick arousal he had began to shift against her sex. She arched up to him and held on tightly in response, and they both let low moans almost simultaneously over the initial contact of flesh.

Leon pushed his hips against her harder, grinding himself between her thighs while groaning over how slick she felt, continuing until she broke the kiss and turned her head to run her lips along his neck and chest, anywhere she could reach him in a desperate manner.

As she did, he asked her breathlessly, "Tell me now, Claire. Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare," she rasped back to him, leaning up to press a meaningful kiss against his mouth in order to prove that she'd meant that line completely, and nearly melted when he groaned his response into her mouth so hotly.

With that answer, he'd removed his hand from the back of her head and reached down between them, grasping himself and pressing the cap of his arousal against her entrance. He'd had to ask her before he did that. She was too important to him to simply take for granted, though he questioned if he would've been able to stop had she said no.

_Fuck, for her, I'd do any damned thing_. Like she'd felt about him since their arrival in the city, she was the only thing he felt he had in Atlanta aside from a lot of heartache and misery. If he couldn't stop when she said no, he didn't deserve her.

With that in mind, he'd began to push his way inside of her slowly, his forehead against hers, eyes shut and lips parted, murmuring out, "Love you so much, sweetheart."

She felt him slowly adding a bit more over time, growing still in response, though her head ended up falling back with heavy breaths, unable to respond to the words of love he'd just professed, or even react to them.

That was when she heard him asking her, "That isn't...hurting you...is it?"

All Claire could manage was a shake of her head just then, arching when he pushed further inside of her. The more he sank inside of her, the better it felt. It was a tight fit for certain, and took a little adjusting, but as he became wedged within her, she couldn't help but finally gasp out, "No! Not at...all, just...just don't stop!"

She'd rocked her hips up to meet his, trying to get as close as she could, lifting her legs a bit higher to make it easier as she felt him pushing his hips against her, shifting inside of her deeply. She knew she wouldn't be able to speak clearly again, so she stroked her hands down his back to tell him not to stop by grabbing his ass and pulling to get him to move, listening as he let a low, sexy groan of sound out of the back of his throat.

That was when she found her mouth covered with his hard, and felt him thrusting slowly between her legs, a steady rhythm behind his movements as he started to pull out, then push back in again. Claire almost couldn't stand it, rocking her hips upward to meet his whenever he moved, and though they were moving slowly, their kiss was frantic until her head fell back. But he didn't stop, searing the side of her neck with attention.

Claire started running her fingers up and splaying them through the back of his hair, trying to keep up with the movements as she pushed her own hips upwards, doing so harder because she was ready for so much more now that she couldn't stand it.

But she felt him latching an arm behind her lower back, keeping her still when he murmured, "Not so fast, baby."

"Fuck," she breathed out on a raspy voice. "Please?"

"Not yet," he groaned back to her, still slowly rocking between her open thighs, then let out another moan as he surged inside of her deeply. "Fuck...so damned good." The words were muttered out mindlessly, but he was so lost in her that he couldn't help but sound that way.

Her eyes had opened, seeing the look on his face of heated pleasure as she took him in and out, and with each thrust, the desire to have him go faster building with each plunge until her eyes fell shut.

"Leon...I can't...Ah!"

She jerked when the bed suddenly started rocking as Leon began to work his hips a good bit harder between her legs as she'd been about to tell him she couldn't stand it anymore. Truth be told, he couldn't stand it either, had wanted to hold onto those slow moments for as long as he could. But now, he needed more just as much as she did. So when she'd spoken, he began moving the way she wanted, pounding between her thighs with a bit of a slap lightly sounding the faster he went, making Claire let out a cry that was much louder than before.

"Ahh! Yes!"

"Fuck!," Leon grunted out in response, never breaking his rhythm while propping himself up on an arm against the headboard above her and cradling her cheek against his palm with the other, his fingers tangling in her hair. He grunted with another hard push inside of her, his movements merciless as she'd gripped his sides, her nails drawing across his back, and cried out his name.

It was the most erotically blissful sight he'd ever seen, working into her so hard that her breasts were bouncing now, and he wanted it to last so badly he could've ripped it out of time itself to hold in his hand where he wanted it to stay, desperate for more of this kind of forgetful bliss and to see her writhing, crying his name. He only grunted as he started to thrust even harder with the thought, clenching his jaw with the effort.

"Leon!"

That was when he felt her clamping down on him and letting another cry out, finding her release without warning. The sudden spasm and the way she jerked got him to reach down without even thinking about it, grabbing her in a tight hold with both arms as he pushed his hips down into her hard and found his own orgasm in the way her body milked at his so tightly.

"Claire! Uhh...," he drew out breathlessly as he felt everything slipping away into oblivion where nothing else mattered. Not one damned bit. All he cared about was the woman trying to thrash against him while holding onto her tightly as she came so hard that she was trembling and gasping for breath beneath him.

"Le—Leon...," she rasped out as the overwhelming pleasure finally started dying down again. As something of a testament to the heights she'd just reached, she let out a breathless, "Oh god," in addition, her face pressing into the crook of his neck.

"Shush," she heard him whispering, his own voice as breathless as hers had been while still holding onto her tightly, rubbing the tip of his nose into her red hair and then kissing her head. He was overwhelmed too, lost completely, and so damned grateful to her that he couldn't stand it. He hadn't lied before when he'd told her he needed her, he just didn't think that line conveyed precisely _how much_.

With the thought in mind, he turned his head a bit lower and started kissing the side of her face, the movements completely affectionate and even adoring in some manner Claire couldn't have described if she'd wanted to. She could also tell that he was still aroused inside of her. After a moment of catching her breath, she said so.

"You're not..."

"No," he drew out softly, "we're not done yet, baby. Not by a long shot."

The words made her breathless, dizzy, and all she could say in response was the word, "Shit."

Finally, Leon found more of a smile because of how overwhelmed she'd sounded at the thought that they weren't done. He'd make sure to give her a reason for saying that as well, sitting back and pulling her up with him to meet her mouth with his for several long, slow moments. The irony was that he'd just had the most hellacious week of his life, and now, he was having the most blissful moment he'd ever experienced settled on the bed in his hotel room with Claire on his lap, still joined with her and ready to have her for a second time.

Leon supposed you really did have to count your blessings where you could find them. She was definitely a blessing.

It was almost as if they were both attempting to make up for lost time with each other afterward. Their movements were once again hard and frantic as Claire found herself on her stomach, holding tightly to Leon's hands above her shoulders as he was leaning over her from behind, both of them panting and sweating despite the lateness of the year and the colder-than-usual temperatures outside of the room.

It was urgent once again, that was, until the very end when Leon slowed down _just_ as he knew she was about to come and refused to go any faster even though she'd tried her best to urge him into it.

"Leon...don't...stop!"

Breathing heavily, he rasped out, "I'm not."

"Leon! Ah," she gasped out as he hit deep again, "please...just...ohh!"

She arched her back, reaching behind to try to grab him, her hand falling against his side as he continued tormenting her with those slow, controlled thrusts.

"So damned hot, baby."

"Fuck, don't...ahh!," Claire started, wanting to tell him not to tease her and talk like that, but she stopped when she felt his fingers slipping between her thighs, letting out a soft cry as he found her sweet spot and began to strum over it, still thrusting inside of her slowly.

That was all it took for her to clamp down on him hard and let out a cry that included his name again, and she felt him slam his hips into her hard and suddenly as she heard his grunt of pleasure behind her, the both of them locked together tightly as their orgasms exploded in them at the exact same time.

It wasn't long before they both collapsed on the bed, trying to catch their breath while laying there limply. Still against her back, Leon hooked an arm around Claire's waist tightly, kissing her shoulder and basking in the afterglow of their sex. He felt her shuddering in response and kissed her there again for it, then laid his cheek in the same spot and murmured out the words, "I love you, Claire. I should've said that before now."

She tensed a little, but it didn't seem to be a bad sign. He figured she just hadn't expected him to say that just then, and hearing it had made her own feelings surface. He felt her hand slipping to his near the pillows on the mattress just after that, and then heard the softly spoken return phrase, "I should have said love you before too, Leon. But I'm saying it now. I love you."

Leon let his eyes open when he heard that, looking at their fingers entwined together not too far from where his head was resting against the back of her shoulder, and he took in a deep breath. He hadn't lied to her. She was the only part of this world anymore that made any sense, the only thing in it that wasn't full of chaos and confusion. Granted, love in itself could often times be chaotic and confusing, but it was also warm, comforting, and extremely enjoyable for all of it's various forms.

It might've been the reason they'd both gone so crazy in bed, but damned if they both didn't need it, and each other.

He tightened his hold on her hand, ready to never let her go just like he'd said before they left for the hotel room. His eyes closed with the thought, and he brushed his cheek against her shoulder as he enjoyed how comfortable he was just then.

That was when he heard some soft giggling, a sound that Claire didn't let out often, but was definitely cute regardless. It made him lift his head finally and ask her, "What's so funny?"

"You need to shave," she replied with a smirk, and felt him pushing himself up so she could roll over. When she did, he lowered himself against her, more to her side though so that he wouldn't crush her completely with his weight, and she reached up to run her fingers along his jaw, adding, "It tickled me when you did that."

There was an amused smile on his face that was warm and extremely handsome, and he said, "Right, I haven't had time to spend with my razor recently. Guess it's starting to show."

"Why don't you go find it now and I'll help you out with that."

That same smile on his face turned a little devious in a way, and Claire leaned up to press a kiss to it before laying back and listening as he asked her, "What, don't like me all scruffy?"

"I like it fine," she retorted with a little grin. "I just wouldn't mind offering a helping hand, and we have a good chance now."

He gave a nod with a knowing expression on his face, and then sat back, reaching down to take her hands and pull her up with him. Once she was settled there, he kissed her again as if he just couldn't help himself, and then got up to go do like she'd suggested.

She didn't just shave him, she took a shower with him as well, where they made love for the third time that night. Unlike their bedroom encounter, it was much slower, taking the time to really learn each other, and figure out what made the other tick. The entire night was a blessing for them both, and they were taking completely advantage of it.

Specifically Leon because he had no idea what tomorrow might've brought.

Later, they finally lay in the bed together, silent and still, Claire against Leon's right side with her cheek resting on his chest while he was on his back and slightly propped up by the pillows. Their eyes were closed in a blissfully restful state of sleep as the sun rose, casting warm light through the windows of the hotel's bedroom, and neither had moved an inch since they'd climbed back in bed together, all wound up with each other and forgetting the rest of the world for a few needed hours.

Leon began to stir as the clock ticked to nine in the morning however. It was mostly habit on his part to wake up at that hour, and he slowly became aware of the enjoyable warmth of a soft, nude woman pressed against his side and opened his eyes to see the peacefully sleeping redhead so comfortably resting there.

He'd almost thought last night had all been a dream, but seeing her in the light of day reminded him that it was much more than just that, and now, he was only hoping the dream part was the outbreaks he'd been dealing with. Still, she was there, and what they had done and the place they'd come to together was something that he could hold onto that would carry him through the rough times ahead of them all.

His phone starting going off by beeping a short chime three times and stopping for a moment, then beeping three times again, interrupting his thoughts. Leon looked over at the nightstand, sighing out his breath softly before reaching and grabbing the device, checking the name on the display.

Claire had started to stir by that time, and she woke up to hear Leon answering his phone, saying, "Kennedy here."

He got quiet, and Claire stayed still. She didn't want to move an inch from where she was at all. She wasn't trying to eavesdrop by any means either, she was just too comfortable to even lift a finger.

It was a short conversation about Dallas apparently, and only a moment later, he was hanging up his phone.

Claire asked as he placed it on the bedside table again, "Who was that?"

"The Vice President," he replied without much fanfare in his voice. "He said they're talking about sending me to Dallas on a more permanent basis because Dallas needs more stabilization. They're not sure if they will yet, but he wanted to give me a heads up in case they decided that it's in their best interests."

He looked down at Claire to see a somewhat solemn look on her face with the reality that had butted into their time together, and he reached for her chin and lifted it so she'd look back up at him. Once her attention was focused on his face, he told her, "Don't worry about it, Claire. If I did leave, I wouldn't leave you here. I can't."

Claire pursed her lips at him, then asked, "What if they won't let you?"

"I'll pull some strings if it comes down to it." Suddenly he smirked with a thought he'd had, adding, "Hell, if I have to, I'll just marry you. That'll keep 'em quiet about it."

He'd meant the line as a joke, and Claire knew that he had, smiling right back at him over it. She then turned her head and laid it back against his chest, able to hear his heart beating as she stroked her fingers up and down his side.

"If they did send you to Dallas, and that was the only way to do it," she mused with a soft sigh of breath given. "I can't say it wouldn't be worth it, Leon. There just doesn't seem to be a lot left to hold onto but the people you love anymore."

Leon knew what she meant, but he decided not to let the conversation get that serious because he didn't want her to feel drug down by it. So instead, he asked on a curiously playful tone of voice, "Saying you wouldn't mind being a Kennedy?"

"Would _you_ mind being a Redfield?," she asked, smirking over his question.

"Hmm, Leon Redfield. Has a nice ring to it," he chuckled out. "Is that your way of proposing to me?"

Claire started snickering softly over the lighthearted banter, saying, "Maybe it is."

It wasn't that conversation that led them to any concrete decision about their future. In fact, they didn't even talk about it, or think about it anymore afterward. At least, not until a week later. Leon found out he was being shipped to Dallas and they needed him to get there ASAP. The news didn't make Leon upset, but the thought of leaving Claire behind simply because he had to leave so fast made him almost furious.

When Leon told Claire, she'd hidden her disappointment the best she could, but he could see it, and he wasn't giving up, even when she told him she understood.

Instead, he said it outright.

"I want you to marry me, Claire."

She'd looked at him and could tell from the set of his jaw and the look in his eyes that he was dead serious. He didn't want to let her go, and being that he had to leave that very afternoon with no guarantee of getting back to Atlanta and seeing her again, he'd said the words.

"I know it's rushing, hell, our whole time here has been rushed, but goddamn it," he cussed, unable to help how angry he was because the state of the world just wasn't allowing anyone to do what they needed to do in nearly any situation, and he informed her seriously that, "I need you in my life, and I don't give a damn what it takes. I'll do whatever I have to, as long as we stay together."

Claire could barely say a single word for a few moments, but she then grabbed him in a hug and said, "Then let's do it. I need you in mine just as much, Leon. I love you."

_December 6__th__, 2007_

_ 8:27 PM_

_ Two Weeks Later_

Leon was sitting in the back of a search and rescue helicopter, looking down at his gloved hand while he thought about the two weeks he'd spent in Dallas as a married man. Though he couldn't see it, he could feel the wedding ring he wore beneath the leather glove on his hand while his wife was safe in the city and he was out on a mission, wondering if tonight, he'd be able to finally locate his missing brother-in-law and get him to safety.

It still seemed strange to think of Chris in such a manner, and even stranger to think that Chris didn't even know about it. Leon had wondered how Chris might react to the news, but he wasn't too worried over it. That would be a story for another time, and right now, Leon just concentrated on the current situation.

He checked his gear again—guns, ammunition, tools, including the light on his belt and the injection gun strapped to it carrying the antidote to the T Virus in case someone contracted the illness by getting bitten or scratched, which was mandatory for all personnel going out into the field to carry now. The marines were all vaccinated, but most survivors still weren't, so the antidote went without exception.

As he realized it was all in place, really only checking it out of habit while waiting, he listened to Ajax sending out the signal to try to blindly get into touch with the people they were looking for.

During his considerations, he heard something that made him look up and ahead at the cockpit where the pilot sat.

It was a response, and it was heard as plain as day.

"_This is Chris Redfield, we read you loud and clear, Dallas. Over. _"

Ajax glanced over at his co-pilot, saying the words, "Well holy shit," in a plain fashion with a sudden smirk on his face.

He then called to the back, "Hey Leon, get up here, we've finally got a bite on the line," and lifted the radio back to his mouth, responding to the sudden confirmation of contact. "Copy that, Chris, this is Captain Ajax who's damned glad he's not just talking to himself anymore."

Leon managed to get to the cockpit by the time he'd said those words, and Ajax went on to inform Chris, "We're flying low near Pampa, Texas, over the southern panhandle. Maybe you can do me a favor and tell me how warm I am."

Leon waited patiently to hear what Chris might say, and he informed the pilot, "_You're only about lukewarm, Ajax. We're more southerly than that now, traveling down route 287, probably not too far away from Cromwell City by now._"

Leon glanced at Ajax when he heard that, realizing that for all intents and purposes, Chris had gotten pretty damned close to Dallas by himself, all things considered. He watched the co-pilot begin to alter their course in the meantime and get readings on how long it would take to arrive at Chris's position before another response was given.

So now they knew, Leon thought to himself. Finally, they could get this wrapped up as long as they kept playing their cards right, but either way, Leon wasn't going to give up. They'd come this far, and if it took until morning light, Leon was going to do everything within his power to make sure that Chris and the other survivors with him were brought back to Dallas.

Even Wesker, who they had something special lined up for in particular.

It wasn't just because Chris was important to his wife either, though that was a big enough reason. If they could get these survivors to Dallas safely, it would show a good bit of hope that not all was lost in the world at large. People needed that, now more than ever.

So it was time to deliver.


	40. Roadblock

_Chapter 39 – Roadblock_

_December, 6th, 2007_

_ Outside of Cromwell City, Texas_

_ 8:27 PM_

"Copy that you're nearing Cromwell City and altering our course."

Ajax replied with those words to Chris after finally managing to locate him while reading his map's data. Leon stood behind and between the two pilot's at the front while Ajax went on to inform Chris that, "In the meantime, I suggest you keep moving. We've run into a bit of trouble since we've been looking for you, but the ETA judging by the distances is two hours, give or take. We'll continue broadcasting on this signal now that we've got you loud and clear, so don't change your dial."

"_Understood, we'll keep moving until you can get a closer ETA to us. We're still in a hummer, and we have an RV hitched to it, so you guys should be able to spot us pretty easily all things considered._"

That was the same thing Chris had told Claire, so they'd apparently managed to keep their transportation going. Hearing this, Leon spoke up, saying, "Let me talk to him." He then waited as the pilot lifted the radio and gave some confirmation of what Chris was riding in before he passed the line over.

"Roger that description, we'll keep our eyes open for you. Now let me put you on hold. I've got someone who needs to talk to you while we have the chance up here. Ajax out."

Ajax lifted the radio back to Leon, who took the device into hand and pressed the button, saying into it, "Chris, it's Leon. How you holdin' up down there?"

Leon had to wait for a moment before a reply came, but he soon heard the words, "_Leon? They sent __you__ out on a search and rescue? But we're holding up as well as we can given the situation._"

"Roger that, and I was sent for various reasons," Leon informed him. "Mostly, they're concerned about sightings we've had of a tyrant that took out one of our crafts the first night we went out to search for you. It's gotten things stirred up to the point that General Kirkhall wasn't so sure sparing extra help was worth the risk. So now I need to know the status of the survivors with you in case we don't manage to get you back to Dallas tonight, not that I'm planning on going back empty handed."

In the RV, sitting on the sectional with the radio in hand and Regan still present, Chris let out a sigh of breath, a little irritated over the way those kinds of things worked when it came to risk assessment, but mostly because it was Wesker's damned problem and not because he didn't understand the need for caution. Still, he didn't make a comment in response to it. After all, he didn't know the search and rescue team had run into the tyrant at all, and hearing that they had made him a little wary. So he got back onto the wire with Leon and gave him some more specific information.

"Understood. If you have to go back to Dallas tonight without us, let them know that there's still five survivors in all, myself included."

Chris noticed that Regan was focused on what was being said now completely, and seemed to have a more hopeful expression on her face than before, a sentiment he shared, but not quite in such an enthusiastic manner. He continued speaking though, saying, "As for the tyrant, we managed to kill one the other day, but there's still one on the loose out there if my information is correct, maybe more, and you should be advised to watch out for it."

Leon didn't sound as if he'd expected to hear that when he responded, "_More than one? Any idea why?_"

Chris didn't _want_ to mention that he knew the tyrant following them was pursuing Wesker in specific and would attack anyone in it's way. That could or would compromise the security of everyone involved, including the search and rescue teams, but something at stake that large couldn't be ignored, so he had no choice.

With a sigh he let sound through the radio, he muttered out on a voice that said he didn't like it, "Yeah, they're trying to apprehend Wesker."

During the conversation, in the hummer Cecilia had managed to get the right station when they'd been picking up the static on the radio again. She'd fallen asleep previously until the sounds began to come through and had woken her. Looking over at Wesker, she saw him handing her the radio since he had to focus on driving, and so she took it and flipped through the channels until they came in on Chris and Leon's half of the conversation from where it had first started when Leon was asking how they were holding up.

Wesker, who was driving, listened to all of this, but he didn't make an attempt to say anything at that point in time. He only focused as Leon continued to speak.

"_That was something else I needed confirmation on. Your sister mentioned you said he was with you, but she didn't get a reason __**why**__._"

"It's a long story, one that can wait until later," Chris replied, his tone serious. "For now, just be advised that this tyrant will attack anyone getting in the way of its mission."

"_Understood. We'll be coming up on your position soon enough now, and Ajax is right. Anything could come between us getting to you, so keep moving as planned for now and stay on this channel. As for the tyrant, we'll keep our eyes open. We have three helicopters with us, two blackhawks and a little bird, all of them armed. Hopefully we won't have to use them._"

Leon didn't say more than that, and Chris got the feeling it was because he knew what the implications were. Before he could think more on it though, the RV began to rattle just a bit, making Chris looked up and narrow his brows over his eyes. It felt like Wesker might've just turned the wheel a bit harder than he'd meant to, but it wasn't easy to say. Maybe he'd just hit a bump in the road, or had to swerve around something, but in either case, Chris didn't like the feeling he got whenever it happened.

Even Regan commented by asking, "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," Chris replied, then spoke into the radio, saying, "Dallas, hold on, we've got some turbulence down here."

"_Copy that_," came Leon's response.

That was when a voice came onto the radio that Chris didn't care to hear just then, saying he ever did. Wesker had picked up the line to inform them, "_Search and Rescue should be advised that we are detecting numerous B.O.W.'s and parked cars up ahead, too many to force our way through, and are taking an alternate route by Cromwell City to try to avoid damage to our transportation._"

"Shit," Chris cussed when he heard that, standing up from the sectional and going to look out of the front windows as Regan had turned and looked in that direction with a worried expression.

"Damn it," Leon muttered out at the same time in the helicopter, looking over at one of the men with their teams who had a laptop computer to address him. "Hardy, get the data on that area up. I wanna know everything about it before something happens."

"On it," Hardy replied, doing just as he'd been asked to.

In the RV, as soon as Chris looked outside and could catch much of a glimpse of anything, he noticed that Wesker was, in fact, turning the vehicle onto another road, which was an off ramp onto a smaller highway that probably traveled around the edge of town. He couldn't see any B.O.W.'s or cars, but it was extremely dark outside, so sadly enough he was forced to trust in Wesker's judgment over the situation. Not to mention that Wesker had already made the turn, so there was no going back no matter what his personal assessment of the situation might have been.

It took the time for Chris to see this for the helicopter Leon to come back in on the radio with some information. "_You need to try to avoid actually going into Cromwell. I have it on good authority that the place is a hellhole. I'm drawing up a map of it now just in case._"

"Typical," Chris muttered out when he heard that the place was a hellhole, and he lifted the radio up, asking into it, "Wesker, what route is this?"

"_One that leads around the city called Cromwell Walden Highway. Unless there __is a roadblock of some type, we shouldn't have to worry about traveling through any urbanized areas. But if the swarm I just saw is any indication of the hellhole that Leon just mentioned, then I can make no guarantees of that._"

Groaning, Chris looked at Regan and said, "Go get Shannon up and get anything ready that you need to take just in case. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"So do I," she muttered, already moving toward the back of the RV and calling her daughter's name.

"_Chris, we'll have the channels open if you need us,_" Leon came back. "_Try to keep us updated, especially if something goes wrong._"

Knowing there was nothing Leon could do from where he was except for staying in touch and potentially offering them directions since he had more intel, Chris lifted the radio and replied, "Copy that, Leon, we'll be in touch. Chris out."

Once he'd said the words, he put the radio back on his belt and went to go make sure things were ready in case something happened, such as having to abandon the vehicle. There was a tense feeling in the air around him that he couldn't ignore, despite the fact that Wesker had said that, for now, they were safely traveling on the outskirts of the city. Something was about to go awry, and he was going to be prepared for it.

Just then, he felt another bump in the road, and he was tempted to ask what the hell it was into the radio, but he got the feeling it was just a body Wesker had hit, which wasn't a great sign. With a sigh of breath, he continued getting his gear in place and checking through it, including grabbing his fingerless gloves which he slipped on as well as his dark green coat since it was pretty cold outside that night.

Regan and Shannon came out only moments later, and the little girl was fully dressed in a pair of jeans and a light blue shirt on that had an ice cream vector on it in the middle of the chest, and she was carrying the backpack she'd worn the first day that Chris had met them. She looked as if she might've been a little tired, but besides that, she acted as if she were fine if not worried.

She stopped walking at the sectional and lifted her arms so that Regan could put her denim jacket on her since it was cold outside, and then put her back pack on over it and helped the child up to sit on the sectional. Once she was settled down, she asked her mother about the bicycle helmet she'd gotten in Santa Rosa, and Regan looked around for the thing, finding it on the kitchen counter in the corner against the wall. She handed it over and let Shannon put it on while thinking it was a good idea. If they had to leave the car, she could identify Shannon more easily with the headgear in place saying anything were to happen.

Regan started putting on her own denim jacket over her white blouse then, and had her duffle bag over her shoulder and across her chest, lifting her rifle into one hand so that she could put it into the duffel for the time being. She checked her handgun afterward, which was still fully loaded, and checked her pockets for anything that might've been hiding in them which she'd need to know about.

Shannon looked up at her mother as she did this, and asked on a soft tone of voice, "How long before the helicopters find us?"

"We don't know for sure yet, maybe two hours," Regan told her honestly. "But they know where we are now anyway."

The little girl gave a single nod of her head, then looked over at Chris when he asked her a question. "How are you feeling, Shannon?" He wanted to make sure for himself what kind of condition that she was in.

"A lot better than yesterday, but still tired," she replied.

"She's like me," Regan mentioned to Chris because she knew Shannon wouldn't think to say anything over it in specific. "Lightweight with medicines, so it might dull her senses a little bit."

Chris kept that in mind, and suddenly, the RV began to vibrate as if they'd hit something. Chris finally picked up the radio and asked into it, "Wesker, what the hell's going on up there?"

Cecilia responded this time, saying, "_There's some debris in the road, and it's impossible to avoid all of it, but everything looks clear besides that._"

"Copy that. How much further until we're back on the right path?"

"_We're approaching an overpass that will lead us away from Cromwell City, and after that, maybe another five minutes if we can keep the speed up._"

"Understood, try to keep us," Chris started, then had to grab the seat behind the wheel of the RV to steady himself when they hit something else before looking outside and finishing his statement off. "Keep us informed."

He stopped there and looked over at Regan who suddenly said, "If we keep hitting debris, it might take out a tire."

"I know. Let's just hope that—," Chris started, then was cut off abruptly and completely when he felt the inertia inside of the RV lurching his body forward as the sound of an explosion in the distance hit his ears, forcing him to grab hold of the driver's seat in order to steady himself. Apparently, Wesker had put on the break fairly hard and suddenly, and they all had to hold onto whatever they could find until the inertia finally wore off while random items went falling to the floor from the counters.

When it finally started to get more steady inside, Chris looked out and ahead of the hummer. About thirty yards down the roadway, where the overpass Cecilia had mentioned before was located, he could see a bright fire lighting up the night sky. An explosion had just occurred somehow, and he suddenly backed up from the windshield and put an arm up protectively by instinct when chunks of pavement began to rain down around the cars they were traveling within, specifically when one of them cracked the glass of the windshield in the RV.

Amidst the loud pings on the rooftop outside while the bridge collapsed in the distance, completely cutting them off from further travel along that route, and just as Chris was having the same thought about the reason why their path had just been completely blocked, they heard Wesker on the radio saying, "_Chris, I believe the tyrant I told you about yesterday just took out the overpass to block us from moving onward. Since I don't see any bulldozers around for you to use, we're going into Cromwell._"

Chris was silent but his expression said everything he felt about the situation, being a serious, unsettled look that made the phrase 'he didn't like it' a complete understatement. But without a response to Wesker, he lifted the radio and said, "Search and Rescue, we've hit a problem."

"_We're still reading you, Chris, the overpass was taken out_," came Leon's voice. "_What road are you turning onto?_"

Wesker was the one to respond with the information, saying, "_Fairway Avenue._"

Silence came from Leon for a few minutes as he was apparently looking into it with only the words, "_Copy that, hold on_," given.

Chris merely waited as he watched the vehicles turning onto the only available road in the meantime so that it could escape the tyrant. Very vaguely, in the distance, he could see buildings rising up to the skylines. Cromwell wasn't a small city after all, and from the overpass of the highway which had been intact up until only a few minutes ago, you could see the bigger buildings of the business district the city had to offer.

While, in the former world, the scenery might've been along the lines of something a tourist wouldn't mind seeing, the darkly lit concrete rising up into the darkness now only gave a heady sense of foreboding to the situation at hand. The thought that they were currently heading straight toward those buildings when the place had formerly been described as a hellhole was more than just an unsettling one.

As he watched that scenery drawing in, Chris got the feeling that tonight was going to define whether or not they made it to Dallas at all.

When he had the thought, Leon came in and said the worst thing Chris could have asked to hear. "_My intel on the city says that it's a complete loss, no survivors recorded as far as we know. It had a population of about the size of Raccoon City if that tells you anything._"

His mood was already dark, so Chris said absolutely nothing in response to that, allowing Leon to continue on by saying, "_There is __**some**__ good news though. Because it's so big, there's a map downloaded into the computer database I have here. I'm trying to find a point of extraction now that will be easy for us both to get to, and seeing if I can get you back to a bypass that'll lead the hell out of there._"

Silence came from the radio then as Regan walked over, looking outside and then at Chris, his expression alone telling her everything that she needed to know. Suddenly Regan got the feeling that any skills she'd picked up during her years as a private in the reserve were about to pay off. She just hoped it would be enough.

Cecilia wasn't looking too enthusiastic about their situation as she listened to what was being said either, and she glanced over at Wesker to see the same straight face he normally possessed, as if they'd just been told they were entering a quarantined city and didn't even know it. But of course _he_ would look like that, he had superhuman abilities, so she got the feeling he rarely ever feel either under pressure, or simply unable to handle something.

In any case, like Chris and Regan, they were both waiting for Leon to come back in with something to go by, _if_ he managed to get anything at all. It didn't take him too terribly long to do either.

"_Alright, If you stay on Fairway, you're going to go directly through the central business district of the city. I'd suggest turning left onto Harview if you haven't passed it yet. If so, any exit will do to get the hell off that road, but Harview takes you directly to another bypass without any turns._"

Wesker looked at the signs with Cecilia, the streetlights not offering them too much help as some were out and others were broken down, though the didn't bar the group's passage down the sparsely urbanized road. Still, Wesker managed to see them, and the sign for Harview was just up ahead.

That was when Wesker lifted the radio and reported, "Sadly, Harview is out of the question. We're passing it now, and there's a pile up of cars blocking it. I will have to take the next available exit."

Silence came from the search and rescue team they were communicating with for a moment, and as Chris waited inside of the RV, still watching everything outside, he just hoped they weren't suddenly cut off from the helicopters somehow. But as he'd had the thought, he heard Leon saying, "_Copy that. In the meantime, there's a hospital called Saint Mary's Baptist not too far from the edge of the city toward the southwest end from where you're located. It shouldn't be too difficult to reach for you at your current position if you get stuck, all things considered. If you can't get out of the city, then we'll head there._"

"Copy that, Saint Mary's Baptist. We'll be in touch. Over and out," Chris said into the radio, knowing as he lowered his arm that it was now all up to them.

Wesker continued moving, while Cecilia alternated between watching everything closely and grabbing the things they might need if they had to make a run for it and checking her weapon chambers. As she did, Wesker turned onto the first available roadway he could find that would lead them _away_ from the center of the city. He needed to go left from there in order to try to get onto Harview, but as he got to the first turn he could take, he found himself blocked yet again. There weren't just cars piled up at the entrance of the roadway—they were lining the entire street to the point that he almost couldn't pass them.

Apparently, Harview had been a popular road in its time. For now, he'd have to keep going straight.

Cecilia had grabbed the GPS to see if she couldn't find some route that might lead to the bypass around the city, and as she plotted a course for them, she asked Wesker, "You think we're actually going to make it out of this city in the hummer?"

"Honestly," he spoke in response, his tone just as deadpan as ever, "I think we'll _try_. As for succeeding, I'm not so optimistic."

"Didn't think so," Cecilia replied, then said as she read the map, "There's a large road up ahead called Arbor Boulevard, it looks like it has a median in the middle of it on this map. So if it's a major route, it's probably not going to be good news, but it's the last chance we have to make it onto Harview. If not, we'll have to go down to Apple Lane and try to reach the bypass that guy on the radio was talking about. Sadly, that's half a mile down Arbor Boulevard, so it sounds like it's time for round five hundred with the undead. Ding, ding."

A small smirk creased Wesker's lips. Rather than comment though, he merely watched the roadways closely, only a few walking corpses being spotted here and there, and the buildings were all shops and boutiques, making it look as if they were in an older section of the downtown area. As they came toward an intersection where the lights, of course, weren't working, he saw that Cecilia was right, there was no way to simply drive forward. So left or right was their only option, and Wesker came to a stop and looked toward the direction that Harview was in.

"No chance," Cecilia muttered out when she saw the cars littering the entire road, back to back.

"Indeed," he finally spoke, pulling onto Arbor Boulevard by going left instead, a road which did, in fact, have a median that separated the two sides of the roadway from one another. The median was covered with grass, and lined with short trees down the center. It had probably been a lovely sight before, but now it was just décor that was in the way.

Wesker paid it no mind, however. He also didn't drive too swiftly. The inevitable truth was that they were going to get blocked, and he wasn't going to waste his time and effort on something useless. He would drive them as far as they could go if only for his own benefit of not having to walk any further than he needed to, but he was already making his own plans to get to the hospital.

His so-called alliance with Chris Redfield was coming to an end. Not that he had any plans to kill the man, at least, not in the near future. But as for working with him, well, the time for that was at an end. Wesker couldn't be more grateful for it either.

In the RV, Regan and Chris had just gotten the ammunition squared off between them, and as they did, Shannon watched them quietly. Regan turned around with everything she needed as far as bullets were concerned now, and then went to her daughter and knelt down in front of her, having to tell her something important.

"Shannon, you remember everything we did after we left Edgemont, don't you?"

"I don't wanna, but yeah," she grumbled.

Regan gave her a sympathetic smile. "Right, me either. But right now, we've got to if we want to make this easier on us in case we have to leave the RV. So just remember to stay close to me unless I tell you otherwise, and do what we say with no questions asked, even if you don't know why we say to do it."

"Roger, mama," Shannon replied, attempting to be a little more courageous. But then she looked a little confused and said, "Wait." Looking over at Chris and back at Regan, she asked, "What if that other man tries to tell me to do something? Should I listen to him too?"

"No," Chris started without having to think about it, speaking from where he'd gone to stand by the driver's seat of the RV once again in order to watch the outside world. After all, if there was a situation that rose up where Shannon only had _Wesker_ as a lifeline, she'd probably be dead anyway.

With the thought in mind, Chris added as he looked over at Shannon, "He's the last person you want to listen to. But Regan, me, and Cecilia, yes."

"Right," Regan agreed, adding the words, "and remember that if you feel like you have to let this backpack go, get rid of it, no questions asked. I know there's things in it we _think_ are important, but our life is the most important thing of all, got it?"

"I got it, and I will mama, I promise." Shannon looked back at her mother and then let her kiss her cheek before returning the kiss, and once Regan had finished doing that, the child admitted softly, "I'm scared."

"I know, sweety, but we'll get through this, just like everything else."

When Shannon finally gave a nod of her head and took a breath as if to brace herself, Regan gave her a warm smile and then stood up straight, looking over when she felt the vehicles coming to a stop.

Dreading asking, but doing so anyway, Regan prepared herself for what she knew was coming now. "What's going on, Chris?"

"I don't see anything outside, but Wesker's been blocked by cars down the road and we have a median of trees to our left that we couldn't turn to pass if we wanted to." With a sigh of breath, he looked back and told her, "We're not going any further in the hummer."

Regan let out a low sigh of breath in getting the confirmation that they were apparently heading to the hospital after all. She just hoped it wasn't too far from where they'd been forced to park, and she turned to help Shannon get up off of the sectional, saying, "Come on, Squirt. It's time to work our walking shoes."

While she did this, Chris got on the radio and asked, "Leon, you copy?"

"_I copy you__, Chris, go ahead._"

"We've been blocked, and we have no choice but to abandon the vehicle. So we're making our way to that hospital on foot. We have some weapons and ammo, and we'll try to reach it by the time you guys arrive."

"_Roger that, Chris. Be careful out there, and we'll get to Cromwell as soon as possible. In the meantime, I'll get on the wire with Command again and update the mission status. They might be able to offer some help._"

"Thanks, Leon. Remind me to get you a drink in Dallas when we get there. Chris out."

"_No problems, and watch your asses. Leon out._"

Chris lowered his arm and took a silent breath, glancing at Regan and Shannon to see them heading over to the door. It was now or never from the looks of it, and he stepped over ahead of them and said with a sigh, "Alright, let's stick together. We'll be fine."

Even if he wasn't sure he knew they'd be fine or not, he wanted to make sure they thought so, or in the very least, Shannon. She'd already been feeling bad, so making sure he didn't give her further reason to be concerned was important just then, no matter how little comfort his words might've actually offered.

But Regan looked as if she knew exactly what was at stake. When he looked at her, Chris realized that he was glad to have her help right now. He trusted her, even if she might not have had extensive training in these situations like most of the people he tended to associate with did. He knew for a fact she would try her best, and that was really all he could ask for in the end with a situation like this.

That trust was about to be put to the test.


	41. Rupture

_Chapter 40 – Rupture_

_December, 6th, 2007_

_ Cromwell City, Texas_

_ 9:21 PM_

"So this is where it all ends."

Wesker had said that as he'd gotten out of the hummer and looked over to see Cecilia following suit, who gave him an uncertain look in response. Without verbally acknowledging it, or expounding on anything about what he might've meant in specific, he quietly walked around the car on the—currently—empty roadway which consisted of roadside businesses, cafes, boutiques, all of which were housed in brick buildings that were of average height for a normal town. It was an older section of the city, the downtown area as it were, and Wesker kept his eyes open.

He was expecting things to begin getting noisy at any moment after all.

But he looked back at the RV when he heard the door opening and saw Chris stepping out, Regan and Shannon just behind him. The three of them were all dressed for the cool weather the night had brought upon them, and they came around to the front of the hummer. Once they were all in one place, Chris looked over at Wesker and asked about their position.

"How far away is that hospital from here?"

Wesker still had the GPS in hand, and he handed it over with the simple words, "Five miles east, separated by the rest of the downtown district we're currently standing in, and a residential area."

Chris took the device to look the thing over while Wesker informed him of that, and after a moment, he let Cecilia have it so that she could also familiarize herself as he sarcastically said the word, "Perfect." Looking back up, he opened his mouth to say more, but stopped himself short and looked around.

No one was standing there.

"Where the hell did he go?"

Cecilia looked up from the GPS as well when the question hit her ears, and so did Regan who'd just checked something she'd found in her pants pocket to see that she had her lighter on her, which she stuck into her coat because she might've needed it. But they didn't see Wesker anywhere as they looked.

Turning, Cecilia walked away from the hummer in order to see if she couldn't spot him somewhere, but was unable to see a damned thing much through the darkness at all, and before more could be said or done anyway, they all heard Shannon letting out a little gasp of breath.

Regan looked down when the girl grabbed her leg and whimpered out the words, "Mommy, look!," while pointing down the roadway in the direction that led behind the hummer and the RV.

Her mother looked up, just as everyone else did, and saw a distant, bulky giant that was walking down the roadway toward them amidst the flickering lighting of a nearby streetlamp, casting an ominous, ill-lit glow to the scene.

Wesker was completely right—there was, in fact, more than one tyrant, and it had found them as well as taken out the overpass to keep them from moving forward on the highway outside of the city. The clothing this one was wearing in specific had burn marks all over it as well, proving Wesker's theory right in that the one they killed in Amarillo hadn't been the same that they'd seen in Salida which Wesker had set on fire.

But these thoughts weren't important in that particular moment. The important part was that, as the bioweapon headed toward them, it had already lifted up a weapon—a rocket launcher which it had probably used to take out the overpass before and force them into Cromwell—and the damned thing still had a projectile to use. The worst part of _that_ was, by the time they saw the creature and the weapon it was carrying, the tyrant had already aimed it in their direction to be launched.

The bioweapon didn't waste time either, firing the explosive projectile at them all, which flew through the air and mercilessly rammed into the side of the RV only a few moments later, blowing it to hell completely. Flames shot up and licked at the air high around it, metal going flying here and there as the blast reverberated down the roadway. The explosion also hit the hummer, and as the gas canisters in the backseat began to heat up over not even a second's worth of time, as well as the gas in the tank of the vehicle itself, it resulted in a second eruption taking place right after the first one occurred.

The fire lit up the surrounding area brightly, casting a glow of light around a situation that had previously been bereft of much visible illumination.

Empty of projectiles now, with burning debris laying around it's booted feet, the tyrant came to a stop and let the metal cannon-like weapon it'd been holding onto fall to the pavement next to it with a clang of sound. It stood there quietly for a moment afterward, scanning the area for any signs of life, but it didn't see anything—not at first.

After a moment though, the tyrant turned its head when it caught sight of an object quickly moving away on the other side of the median in the center of the road and beyond the trees lining it, just barely managing to get a good view as it got out of sight completely. Without question, it suddenly turned it's body and began to move in after the target it had detected, the same target it had come to chase down all along, and the main objective of its current mission—apprehending Albert Wesker.

As the creature took off, Chris heard the loud, pounding footsteps against the road over the roaring in his ears from the blast of the explosion behind him while still laying on the pavement and working his way out of his current disorientation.

When they had spotted the tyrant, and more specifically, the rocket launcher it was wielding, they'd all turned and taken off as swiftly as possible as the tyrant fired on their position. The group had managed to get far enough out of range to avoid the impacting blast, but they hadn't quite gotten far enough not to be completely bowled over in the shock the explosion had sent out behind them.

This sent them all careening in differing directions through the air and beyond the flames roaring to life in the wake of the hummer's destruction, making them loose sight of one another completely and knocking them for a proverbial loop.

Chris found himself rolling across the pavement and onto his back when he landed, and he didn't manage to get his head to really stop spinning until he heard the pounding footsteps not too far away. That was when he opened his eyes and got them to focus, then suddenly rolled to the side again when he noticed debris falling down around him from the explosion, such as pieces of their former transportation that were still burning, one of them slamming into the pavement where he'd just been laying.

A particularly loud crash was heard several feet away just as Chris had taken cover when a long shaft of metal that had previously been a part of the roof of the RV came crashing down onto the street, also on fire. It had crashed across the roadway from the median at one end and to the buildings at the other where an abandoned blue sedan was parked haphazardly on the sidewalk and the street. It had also hit a tree apparently because snapping could be heard as the trunk broke and the large plant began to fall over on top of it, being set ablaze in the fires the debris was currently caught in.

Thankfully, this wasn't very near to where Chris had wound up laying and taking cover, but at least fifteen feet from his position. Still, Chris couldn't vouch for it not endangering anyone else because he didn't _see_ anyone else around when he'd looked up.

With his ears still ringing, he sat up and scanned the area, calling out, "Regan? Cecilia?"

Chris pushed himself up and continued looking for them with his eyes, and when he glanced to the left, he saw the fires of the hummer he'd had since this entire road trip began, or what was left of it now anyway, burning away and completely ruined.

They were _definitely_ staying for the long haul.

That was when he heard a groan, but not the sound of a zombie, which he was expecting to see a good number of any moment now with all of the commotion that had just been created. Instead, it was a groan of disorientation, and he looked to his left where it had come from to see Regan about fifteen feet away from him near the blue sedan, laying on the pavement and pushing herself up slowly. She was closer to where the roof of the RV had fallen, and Chris figured that was probably because she was lighter and had gone father in the blast.

He headed over to her and knelt down, but he still didn't see Shannon or Cecilia anywhere as he asked her, "Hey, you okay?"

She didn't answer as she stood up with his help, looking around the area for her daughter just as he had been. She'd been about to call Shannon's name when suddenly, they heard a scream and gunfire going off, coming from the other side of the road past where the wreckage of the RV had landed.

Regan knew that scream all too well, and it was easily the quickest way to get her blood to turn to ice.

"_Shannon!_," she yelled out in desperation to try to find her daughter, unable to see much of anything beyond the tree now burning in their path.

When everyone had scrambled to get as far out of reach as possible, Regan had lifted the little girl and ran in order to try to shield her daughter's body from the blast as much as she could. But the force behind them had lifted them both up into the air violently. It had happened fast and Regan felt her body slamming into something hard—_what_ though she wasn't sure when it happened—but more importantly, because she'd stopped so suddenly, she felt her grip lost on Shannon, unable to react as she tumbled off of the object and onto the pavement below, completely dazed.

The object she'd hit happened to be the hood of the blue sedan that, when Regan lost her grip, Shannon went rolling over the opposing edge of and fell to the pavement herself. It wasn't a large drop, but Shannon had been so rattled that she didn't even really notice how the air was knocked from her lungs, or her head hitting the sidewalk where she scraped her cheek against the corner. Because of the helmet she wore though, no other damage was done, thankfully.

During her disorientation, she heard her name spoken softly, opening her eyes to see Cecilia in the dazed state she was finally starting to recover from, though she was still too rattled to respond to her.

"Shannon?"

Cecilia had lifted the girl up into her arms to check her and make sure that she was alright. Because she was the swiftest runner of the group, and also because she had already been standing further away from the hummer than everyone else when they'd started running, Cecilia managed to get further and hadn't been as completely bowled over in the blast as the other three with her had been. So she'd landed further out and managed to roll to a stop and onto one knee, looking back over in time to see Regan slamming into the car and the force of her stop jerking Shannon out of her arms.

Cecilia gasped as Shannon fell to the pavement, unsure of the child's condition—or the mother's for that matter—and she ran over to see how the child was by lifting her up and asking her name.

But before she could really check Shannon whatsoever, something else got her attention, and she glanced up when she heard metal falling around them and noticed the hood of the RV—which to her just looked like a very large piece of burning debris falling through the sky—was coming down toward both her and the child she had in her arms.

With a grunt of effort, she pushed herself beyond her limits in order to get Shannon out of the way without any choice of helping Regan, not even sure if the object was going to hit them or not precisely. But the burning metal shaft came down behind her retreating figure with a loud crunch of sound at the same time that Chris was trying to avoid other debris himself.

The roof hit one edge of the road at one end, and a tree lining the median of the road with the other, which had began to crack and break at its trunk, falling down across the rooftop and adding to the blocks in their path now. It was only a matter of time before the flames that the roof of the hummer was burning in caught the limbs on fire, and the surrounding area became even more illuminated than before as that happened.

Cecilia had taken in several deep breaths as she watched this, holding onto Regan's daughter in her arms who'd just let out a sob. That got Cecilia's notice, and she finally started to check the little girl out as thoroughly as she could.

Shannon looked absolutely terrible in that moment, shaken up and out of it, but from what Cecilia could tell, she hadn't been hurt too much in the fall, only scraped her cheek on the pavement. It was bleeding a little, but it would heal, and aside from that, she thankfully looked physically intact.

As the child had started crying, Cecilia stood up and lifted her up to hold her while rubbing her back and saying, "Don't worry, sweety, your mom's just over there, I saw her. I want you to breath slow now, okay? Can you do that for me?"

She heard the child trying to do that, glad for the cooperation. While she wasn't completely sure if Regan had gotten trapped under the debris of the RV or not, she needed Shannon to calm down for the moment, and talking to her softly as well as asking her to breath while she kept her eyes open was the best way to do it. She'd also heard Chris calling her name out, but she was interrupted from replying as Shannon whimpered out a question.

"Is she...is she okay?"

Cecilia was going to respond as Shannon had lifted her head from her shoulder in order to look at her, but suddenly the child screamed loudly. The sound got Cecilia to spin around to witness a zombie coming in behind her, and it was already close. Cecilia grabbed her handgun without thought as she backed up and took a shot, nailing it in the head with Shannon still in one arm.

As the decaying man fell over, she noticed more zombies were coming from the alleyways and down the road behind him, three of the undead within a close proximity which she had to take out before they could reach her. The creatures had been drawn by all of the commotion, and Cecilia realized while she looked after killing the first ones close to her that they were coming from nearly all directions, including an alleyway behind her now, which got Shannon to grab her and point them out.

As the realization of the fact that she'd be dead if she stayed there any longer hit her, Cecilia also heard Regan screaming her daughter's name. So without hesitation, she answered by calling out as quickly as possible, "She's fine, I'll get her to safety and head to the hospital. Now _**run**_! There's zombies all over the damned place!"

As soon as Regan heard those words, she tried to move ahead as if to go around the debris, but found herself stopped when Chris grabbed her arms.

"She's right, Regan," he said as he held onto her, "we can't get to them from here. We'll have to go around."

He'd noticed the zombies heading toward them on the other side of the median, coming out of the wood works as it were, and didn't let go of Regan because he knew that even if they could get around to the other side of the debris by taking some of them out, Cecilia was being forced to move away even now. So chasing them down directly was out of the question at that moment. They would have to find another route, and make it to the hospital by themselves.

"Regan, there's no time! Move!" Chris's voice didn't leave room for argument as he held onto the woman's arm and pulled her along, trying to get some distance between themselves and the zombies heading in from alleyways and around street corners now.

Regan couldn't help but stumble with him as he did so however. She was being tugged away from her daughter who had deadly monsters approaching her, and it was the exact same sensation as ripping her heart out. Any mother who loved their child would've felt the same way regardless of the danger they were in themselves.

So she had to fight her motherly instincts to to keep herself from yelling at Chris to let her go and instead just run with him because she had absolutely no choice in the matter. There was just no way to get to them from there, and some part of her mind knew it, urging her to go with him when he'd told her to move.

Finally she managed to tear herself away from the scene to make haste to find another way out of the area, and it was the single hardest thing she felt she'd ever had to do.

_9:35 PM_

"Running blindly now, are we? How sad."

Wesker spoke those flat words to the wind around him as he watched the group scattering away from the undead beginning to invade the scene below, standing on a tall rooftop overlooking Arbor Boulevard where the hummer had been destroyed a good distance away.

Like always, it hadn't taken him long to lose the tyrant, though he knew the creature would find him again eventually. For now though, he was well concealed in the darkness, and he looked away as Chris took off in one direction through an alleyway with Regan and Cecilia ran in another, completely different direction with an eight year old girl who was scared and would likely drag her down. Idly, he thought to himself, if the police officer managed to survive _this_, he actually might be impressed.

He looked forward to seeing the outcome.

Lifting his unshaded gaze, he looked off into the distance and, through the darkness, could vaguely see the buildings where they needed to head to, though he wasn't precisely certain in that moment which one might've been St. Mary's Baptist Hospital. In his pocket was the radio, which he'd turned off because he got the feeling that Chris was more than likely going to be contacting the search and rescue helicopters whenever he could get a chance to in order to inform them of the situation.

While he would find listening in on their conversations handy, he didn't want to make sound and alert any of his current enemies to his presence. So for now, Wesker was in stealth mode, and he'd made up his mind to merely wait until the helicopters arrived with their added firepower before engaging this tyrant head on and destroying it.

Satellite was more than likely following him as well however, which was a disadvantage to waiting. He glanced up at the sky briefly to notice that there weren't any clouds—not his lucky night it seemed.

Glancing back across the rooftops and deciding that he'd been in one place for too long, Wesker turned and then crouched before he leapt upward and sent himself sailing over to the rooftop across from the one he'd just stood on. It was a little lower down, and he cracked the roof when his boots hit the surface.

As soon as he landed, he heard the sound of concrete breaking behind himself, and he looked back in his crouch to notice that apparently, the sky was _very_ clear that night because whomever was in control of the tyrant had already homed in on his previous position across the way as the creature jumped up from some level inside of the building and onto the rooftop he'd just leapt from.

As the tyrant got a lock on Wesker who'd stood up straight from his landing crouch, he muttered out, "I suppose I overestimated the length of my welcome."

The tyrant suddenly began to move, and when it did, so did Wesker. He turned and took off, beginning to hop from roof to roof in order to escape the bioweapon pursuing him now, finding it simple enough to do so, but there was a particular problem.

Wesker could only really use his speed when he had a straight path he could take, one where he didn't have to stop so often in order to utilize it. Certainly he could bound from point a to point b in no time at all, and he wasn't slow in his movements now, but as he was running and jumping, he had to make sure he put enough force into his leaps to reach differing heights, which slowed him down, and the tyrant wasn't faltering in its chase of him.

When Wesker leapt to the fifth rooftop and began to bound across it, he had the added obstacles in the way to overcome which were the undead. He didn't allow any of it to slow him down though, simply knocking the bodies over and out of his path, but when he came to the edge of a rooftop that was parted by a significant gap over a roadway, he stopped, and then looked back when he heard a crash of sound.

The tyrant had just landed behind him, and three zombies were wandering in closer. Without question, Wesker made a decision and backed toward the edge of the roof, a very small smirk on his face as the tyrant, who'd stood up straight from landing, wasted no time and began to run toward him.

As the bioweapon reached him, ready to grasp him, Wesker pushed himself backwards off of the roof before it could. His enemy wound up rushing off of the edge and over him instead as Wesker fell but grabbed the edge of the roof to stop himself, looking down below as the tyrant landed on the pavement of the street so hard that it blew of chunks of cement everywhere around it.

Quite a few zombies were walking about the tyrant as well, one of them crushed beneath its feet. With half a smirk on his face, Wesker let out a sigh and muttered, "Unfortunately for you, they don't build you with much personal intelligence."

Wesker looked back up after saying that when he felt his hand behind grabbed by one of the zombies above him, which was now leaning down with an open mouth to try to bite his arm.

"Speaking of an intelligence lack," Wesker started when he saw it, and without even considering it, he reached for the same ledge with his other hand, placing his boots against the brick wall, and then jerked his grabbed arm downwards. The movement allowed him to successfully tug the zombie off of the roof, and before more could happen, Wesker turned to face the wall and used his legs to propel himself away from it and through the air backwards with a slight grunt of force.

Heading to the rooftop across the way and turning a single flip through the air so he could come down more easily, he started to get out of the area, only taking the tops of three more buildings before he jumped down between them and into an alleyway, deciding to take a less scenic route where, hopefully, satellites would have a harder time of tracking him.

The zombies in the roadways and alleys didn't cause Wesker too much trouble, though they were an annoyance he'd rather do without as he had to utilize the tactic of staying out of the satellite's view. Roof tops were easier, but in this situation, he was cut off for the moment.

Everyone had their work cut out for them now. Wesker was no different, though he would have an easier time than most in a general sense. But he wouldn't get sloppy. This was all about to come to an end, the group's rupture being merely a foreshadowing of the things yet to come that evening.


	42. Deathtrap

_Chapter 41 - Deathtrap_

_ December 6__th__, 2007_

_ Cromwell, Texas_

_ 9:41 PM_

It simply wasn't a night to be taking a stroll.

Just as Leon had said, Cromwell City was littered with danger lurking in the darkness, making the town a hellhole, and they were all stuck in the middle of it. To make matters worse, they'd been separated, and were all trying to find their way to the hospital where liberation from the threat of the undead and viral monstrosities hopefully awaited them.

While Cecilia got aide from the GPS she'd been holding onto when they'd been forced to split up, which directed her more easily to side roads she could use in order to reach the extraction point with Shannon, Chris was forced to go back to Fairway Avenue with Regan. That was the same road where they'd first entered the city which Leon had warned them led to the central business district, a place that Chris was pretty sure would be a deathtrap for them both.

If they didn't find some alternate route to take, Cromwell City would become their permanent home.

Just making it down the section of the road they'd emerged on after they'd initially taken off had been extremely hard to do. Only a few of the streetlights along Fairway Avenue were on, but they were buzzing and flickering so badly that they didn't offer much help, while the rest of them were all out. He and Regan had to stick together as close as possible in the darkness to keep from loosing each other while also trying to watch each others backs so they could evade danger more easily. They only took a shot if they absolutely needed to so that they could save on ammo, which was something Chris had already warned Regan about back in Santa Rosa when they were trying to move the bus with Wesker's aide. In this situation, focusing on the ones closer in was mandatory.

Regan heeded his advice, ducking and dodging around the undead humans trying to reach for them in the dark as they moved around cars and through whatever open spaces they could find. She managed to slip through tighter corners more easily where Chris had an easier time of pushing enemies back if they got to close in order to knock them over rather than shooting them.

Eventually, they came to a cargo truck parked across the roadway with a large container on its back, blocking their path. Chris stopped Regan from going under it because they didn't know what might be waiting on the other side and could get trapped going that way, so rather than go under it, they headed to the front and climbed up onto the hood where they could see what was on the other side before heading further down the roadway.

It was the same story, except that the new section of the road was much smaller than the first, which came to a corner at the end that only went in one direction. They moved toward it before the zombies behind them could climb beneath the truck and follow after them, which they were already beginning to do, and then came to a sudden stop as they rounded the corner.

The turn on the road led down between several tall buildings and to a plaza, and that was where a horde of zombies awaited them—many more than they'd seen in Santa Rosa. The zombies before them began to turn around and face the duo that had just stopped in their escape from the previous group of enemies one by one, letting out low groans that seemed to alert their kind to the presence of 'fresh meat' nearby now, ringing a proverbial dinner bell.

Without question, the horde started to head in for them when there was already a nicely sized flock coming from behind which were standing from climbing beneath the large truck in the road that Chris and Regan had just climbed over.

"This is the central business district alright," Chris said on an unhappy tone of voice, immediately looking to try to find a way out, and to his right he saw an alleyway between two buildings, though it was much too dark to be able to tell if anything was in it.

Still, it was their _only_ shot, and Regan noticed it too because she'd suddenly told him, "Over there! That alley!"

Regan didn't waste time and moved with him, adrenaline pumping through the both of them while they reached the end of the six foot wide alley with their guns drawn only to meet a brick wall in the darkness and a dead end.

Still, there were two doors on each side of the building, but one was boarded up so tightly that not even the doorknob was accessible. Regan went to the other one and twisted the knob before pulling on the door as hard as she could, then pushed her entire body into it, but it just wouldn't budge either way. She didn't stop when Chris came over to do the same thing along with her, hoping maybe they could _both_ make it budge.

The damned thing was locked solidly though and wasn't going to open without a good bit of force that they just didn't have in that moment. Chris slammed his fist into the door angrily when he realized it, and then turned away to see that the roaming zombies had filled the other end of the alleyway now and there was no way out of there for them whatsoever.

_Deathtrap_, he thought briefly, and that just pissed him off even more.

He wasn't giving up though, not this fucking time. In a hurry to figure out a plan to save their asses, Chris looked over to notice a few large dumpster's standing against the walls nearby that were metal and about seven feet tall. Pushing one of them into the way so that one side was adjacent with the other wouldn't hold off the horde forever, but it would buy them some much needed time to figure out a more solid plan.

Without question, he moved to the large stationary container, saying to Regan, "Give me a hand so we can block them!"

Grabbing the bar along the side, Chris began to lift the heavy container up and off of the ground at an angle so he could turn it across the pavement. It wasn't light, but Chris wasn't weak, and with the added benefit of the adrenaline pumping through him, he got it up with a grunt of force as the zombies drew in closer to them. Regan ran over to help when he'd told her what he was going to do as well, making it a little easier as they both managed to push the blockade almost completely into the corpse's paths much faster than Chris would have alone.

There was still a gap that some of them could fit through however, prompting Chris to let go and get behind the dumpster where he shoved himself into it as hard as he could with Regan, creating a loud scrape of metal as the dumpster turned across the pavement with them shoving it the rest of the way in. The zombies drew closer to the gap when the dumpster finally settled into place against the other across from it and shut out the horde completely just as they were reaching the newly made barricade.

The undead reached up and began beating on the dumpsters with decaying hands, groaning and growling hungrily for what was on the other side. At the moment, they were safe from the threat of being eaten, but soon enough, so many would be pushing against it that the dumpsters might either move out of the way, or they'd more likely begin to climb over the top of it by using each other as a stepping stool.

Chris and Regan would have to use the time they'd bought to formulate some kind of plan, hopefully one that wouldn't include opting for suicide over being eaten alive.

Both of them stood back after they'd momentarily blocked the undead's path, breathing heavily from all of their exertions and the tension of the situation combined. After a short moment of letting the knowledge that for now, they were safe, Regan turned around and looked at the three walls surrounding them, including the two doors, and then looked at Chris to see that he was also trying to figure out what to do.

She was about to speak when suddenly, the sound of glass breaking above them got their attention, and they both looked up, then turned their heads away and backed up as a body fell to the cement several feet away from them along with some shards of glass. The corpse's body splattered blood and gore across the pavement below, and when it got quiet, they glanced over to see that, for the most part, the head of the zombie was destroyed in the fall it'd just taken.

With that fact in mind, they then looked up to where it had fallen from, but all they could see in the dark of the night were windows and the rooftops far above them. Perhaps it had been inside the building and had heard all of the commotion, then tried hopelessly to get to the both of them, falling out of a window it'd broken through.

"Holy shit," Regan exclaimed, still breathing heavily as she looked back and around the area they were still trapped in, and she jumped when she heard metal scraping behind her, looking back with Chris to see the dumpster starting to move before it settled again. They didn't have much time at all.

From there, Regan looked up and then down at the body on the cement while she'd thought the line _If we could reach one of the windows above maybe_... But then her thoughts trailed as she'd looked back down at the corpse and noticed something at the same time that Chris did, and they glanced at one another.

"The sewers," she spoke, the corpse laying directly across a manhole they could use.

"That's what I was just thinking," he replied, going over and grabbing the shirt that was still on the twice dead corpse, using it to pull the body off of the manhole completely. Once it was out of the way, he grabbed the cover, tugging it up and pushing it aside.

Regan stepped over and crouched down across from him. Sewer or not, if it gave them a shot to save their asses and get to Shannon, she'd take it. As she knelt, she realized it was going to be extremely dark down there, even darker than the very slight lighting they already had, and she suddenly remembered the lighter she carried in her pocket that she'd found just before the hummer had been blown up, which she went for then.

Chris had also pulled his zippo out of his coat pocket after he'd checked to see if he still had it on him. When he found it in his jacket, he muttered out the words, "Thank god for small favors," while flicking the wheel with his thumb, which illuminated the immediate area surrounding him.

"I'm just glad now that I started smoking again," Regan muttered out as she lit her own. But she had a Bic lighter, one that would go out the moment she released the button, unlike Chris's zippo which would burn until he shut the lid or blew it out. Still, she was glad to have it and held it out while Chris had his near the opening into the sewer to look below as much as he could.

The two flames combined cast just enough light down to see the bottom, and neither of them spied anything dangerous from where they were. So Chris put the zippo out for the moment and grabbed the rung of the ladder that led down, then turned himself around so he could climb in.

"Let me check it out first, and make sure to keep your eyes open above," he told Regan as he descended down into the cement hole halfway.

Just then, Regan heard the dumpster moving again, and she looked back, able to see hands reaching through the very slim corners, telling Chris, "Alright, but make it fast, otherwise I'm just gonna jump down there with the way this dumpster's moving."

Still perched on the ladder, Chris lit his zippo and held his arm out with it in hand while Regan told him this, knowing the horde outside was getting closer to breaking through their barricade. As he looked around inside of the sewer though, he saw nothing but an empty corridor surrounding him as far as he could tell.

The tunnel was pretty wide, about thirteen feet across completely, with an arched roof and two ledges on each side that were both about three feet in width at the most. Those ledges rose up for about seven feet over a wide stream of sewer water running down the path between them. Apparently, due to the recent rains, the water was flowing more swiftly than it normally would have been, which was honestly better than stale water that hadn't been flushed for more or less—but still, sewer water was sewer water, no way around that.

"It looks clear, come on," he spoke up to Regan above, climbing further down the ladder as the scent of sewage—though not any better than the stench of rotting, walking corpses—hit his nose.

He heard Regan wasting no time above him, even heard another loud scrape of metal, and watched Regan as she stopped moving downwards and pulled the cover back over them to shut the hole up and keep anything that managed to break through the barricade from following them for the moment. Then she climbed down completely, setting one foot on the ledge after the other, and let a groan of breath out.

"Christ, I don't know what smells worse, the sewer or the zombies," she muttered when she reached the bottom, holding up her hand and lighting her lighter again.

"Yeah, we'll need to shower for about a week straight when this is over." After he'd spoken, he tugged out his radio and pressed the button on it, asking into it, "This is Chris, does anyone copy?"

Nothing came back, so Chris tried once more, waited, and still didn't get an answer. Sighing, he stuck the radio back on his belt and muttered out, "Damned short wave radios. We won't be able to get through until we're out of here again more than likely."

Regan looked down and took in a breath to get a grip on the situation, pulling out her handgun in the process because it was so much more difficult to see in the sewer and she might've needed it quickly. But the thought of Shannon out in this and separated from her, maybe even getting stuck in a similar situation was on her mind no matter what she did. Regan knew she had to try to keep a level head, stay focused on where she was and what was going on, and that felt like the hardest thing she'd ever done before in her entire life.

With the effort to actually do so however, she shook her head and asked on a somewhat urgent tone of voice, "So where the hell do we go now? We don't have a map, and I'm a woman, so my sense of direction _above_ ground is only sub par."

"Odd to hear a woman actually admitting that," Chris commented plainly when he noticed there were some metal pipes laying across the walkway, all of varying lengths, but one of them was particularly long. Turning, he walked over to them and picked the longest one up.

"Hey, that particular female stereotype is true about me and I'm not ashamed to admit it," Regan responded as he went, and for as much as she tried to mask it and let some humor show through, there was the anxiety she was feeling showing up in her voice.

Realizing it, and taking another deep breath, she added more plainly, "So, any idea which way leads east?"

"I know we'll have to head left in order to get around the buildings we ran into and still be heading in the general direction of the hospital." Chris told her that as he'd knelt down and slowly pushed the metal pipe into the so-called water floating through the middle section of the sewers while he continued to speak, "From there, we'll try to get back to the surface and move above ground again. The hospital will be easier to find that way. Maybe get into contact with Leon and see if he can direct us."

The pipe he was using to push into the water only went down for about a two foot depth before he felt the bottom—good to know in case they were forced to go wading through it. That meant that the walls of the ledges they were standing on were about ten feet total in height and weren't safe to just fall off of.

Once he'd figured that out, he stood up straight again and turned around, looking over at Regan as she replied by saying, "Right," in response to which way they needed to go, apparently trusting in his judgment. But she then had a thought which she asked him about as he dropped the pipe and grabbed his weapon.

"Wait, did Cecilia have the radio?"

"No, I saw Wesker holding onto it when the tyrant showed up."

Hearing that, Regan tried to hold the dismay she felt inside, though she couldn't help but cuss out the words, "Son of a bitch."

Chris knew if only because he could hear it in her voice whenever she spoke that she was extremely worried at that moment, but he told her pointedly, "It's not going to be any safer down here, maybe worse because we can barely see, Regan." His tone was serious as he felt he needed to say something over her current state of mind before they did anything more.

"So I need you to stay focused. I know you're worried about her, but you're going to have to trust Cecilia to keep her safe until we can get to the hospital. She had the GPS last, and she might be using it now if she managed to hold onto it."

Regan couldn't help the stern look she got on her face after he told her that, one that was determined, replying just as seriously, "I'm worried, but I'm not about to flip out and compromise us, Chris. This is my _daughter_, and I'm not giving up _or_ leaving this town until I find her, even if everyone else leaves without me. So let's get the hell out of here and start looking."

Chris was glad to hear her saying that, giving her a nod of agreement before he reached for his weapon. Because the ledge was only about three feet in width, it would only allow for walking with one person in front and one in back, so he said, "Alright, you keep your eyes open on our backs and I'll watch the front."

Regan confirmed that and began to move in behind him as they started, keeping her vision focused on the areas behind them while they moved. She remembered thinking before that she'd felt as if the skills she'd acquired in the reserve were going to be put to use, and she was definitely grateful for them now.

As they went, Chris tried to keep his eyes focused on whatever might've been ahead of them that he could see, using his ears to help them both out, and for the moment, all they heard was the sound of the water trickling slightly through the sewer. But every now and again, they would hear some shifting in the distance, or something clattering, and it always seemed to be in an unexplained fashion, increasing the tension in the air around them.

Like Chris, Regan would slow down whenever they heard the strange sounds, looking around the area to try to locate the source of it, but to no avail. Sadly, the light only went so far, and it barely even reached across the way to the opposing ledge of the one that they were walking on. But from what they _could_ tell, currently, the two of them were both completely alone.

So they didn't know much about what the odd, random creaks and shifting could have been coming from, and it was only making the tension in the air around them even worse.

As they made their way around the corner and to the left, tapping was suddenly heard, sporadic but more constant than anything else they'd detected yet, and it was hard to tell where the sound was coming from at first because it seemed to echo through the tunnel slightly. But as they moved, the sound started getting louder and louder. That meant it was coming from ahead of them, and Chris came to a stop, his gun aimed with one hand, holding the zippo up higher with the other, readying himself for anything.

He realized however that they were coming to the end of the new, shorter corridor they'd rounded into where it split off in two different directions completely, disallowing them from going straight anymore at all. So he stepped forward a few more feet quietly and looked around as thoroughly as he could in the dim lighting.

That tapping sound they were still hearing had grown a good bit louder by then as well, and Regan looked over her shoulder at him as she came to a stop, asking quietly, "What the hell _is_ that?"

"I don't know."

The sound just kept going, and ahead of them was an opening in the wall, but it was barred off to allow water to flow through it. As Chris looked down at the surface of the water being drained through those bars, he saw that a few random items had been washed up against them but were too big to pass through, such as broken toys like a doll's head and a piece of a broken lampshade. They were hitting against the metal in the current they'd been caught up in, resulting in a steady tapping sound.

His expression growing a little flat with some irritation, Chris announced the words, "False alarm, though I wouldn't be surprised if something jumped us now that we've seen that."

"Don't jinx us, we don't have any wood to knock on."

"If only it were that easy." Chris muttered out, randomly remembering hearing Shannon mentioning something about needing wood to knock on before, and now knew where she'd gotten it from.

As he'd briefly considered it, he looked left first, which led down another long tunnel that he couldn't see too much of, but didn't manage to locate any ladders from what he actually _could_ see. So he then looked to the right and across the sewer water to the platform on the other side of the one they stood on, and squinted. He thought he saw a ladder on the wall over that way, but couldn't tell completely beyond the darkness of the flame he had going.

"Regan, I need your lighter over here."

When Regan got close enough to him, she turned her arm and held the light out toward his like he'd asked, looking in the same direction that he was, and then asked, "Is that a ladder?"

"Yeah, looks like it," he replied, able to see a little better with both of the small, flickering flames helping them out. They'd have to make a trip through the water to get to it, but if it got them out of there alive, it was well worth it.

Looking down at the water below and sighing in a breath, Chris told her, "Just make sure you watch your step. Zombies _can_ stay underwater after all."

He reached down to the ledge following those words and placed his hand against it before pushing himself into the water below, which only came up to his knees. Before he could turn around, he heard Regan getting down behind him as well as she replied by sarcastically saying the word, "Lovely."

It was a sentiment he could completely agree with.

The water raised to her lower thighs in being shorter than Chris as she was, and she hated that it splashed up at all, but she continued to move on without a word. As they began heading toward the ledge across the way, both keeping their minds off of what they _might_ have been wading through in the meantime, they kept their lighters going and guns at the ready.

It didn't take too long to cross the stream running around their legs, and when they reached the other side, Regan's lighter went out because she had to pocket it along with her handgun in order to climb back up.

As she did so, she suddenly felt something brush by her leg beneath the water, and she gasped and turned to back up toward the wall, looking around when she heard Chris asking her, "What?"

"Something brushed my leg," she replied quickly.

Chris looked around briefly, his weapon aimed at the water when he heard this, waiting for a few moments, but nothing ever made a move. With a short sigh of breath while deciding not to waste the time waiting for something to jump at them, he said, "Come on, let's just get back up there."

With the words, he moved toward Regan and put the zippo out and his weapon away briefly so that he could lift her up to reach the top because it was a good bit higher than she could reach even if she jumped. Not to mention, the fact that she'd said she felt something in the water meant he didn't want it to be sloshed about too much, regardless of whether or not they were left in the dark for a few moments.

Taking her sides, he lifted her up and then felt her weight growing lighter when she'd grabbed the ledge above. "You got it?," he asked as he felt her pulling herself up while relighting the lighter and checking around himself again.

"Yeah," Regan replied briefly, getting to the top before she turned herself around and reached to take the zippo from him. He handed it up and Regan then settled it onto the floor not too far away to continue burning there so that she could help Chris and they could still see at least a little while he pulled himself up.

She reached down and took his hands, using her lower half to lift him up by standing from her crouch with a short grunt of effort until he had the edge of the platform on his own. One thing she hadn't forgotten was just how heavy Chris was, so she braced herself beforehand. As he managed to reach the top, he went to pull himself up on his own and Regan let him go so that he could do so without getting in his way.

He got his elbows over the edge and that was when they both heard the water splashing behind him. It was a sudden sound, and at the same time, Chris felt something grabbing his ankle and giving an unexpected jerk, which got him to falter without warning. The sudden sounds of excited groaning began to echo through the tunnels around them in the process.

"_Shit!_," Regan cussed as Chris went down with the sudden, unexpected jerk, reaching out to grab his wrists before he lost his grip on the edge completely and fell back into the water again. She wasn't even sure what had grabbed him precisely, but hearing the splash and seeing him being tugged down was enough to tell her that _something_ had, and that was all she needed to know.

The truth of the matter was that a bloated, waterlogged zombie which no longer possessed any eyes and only had bloody stumps for legs that it couldn't walk on had come up when it found him, and Regan briefly managed to see it after she'd taken Chris's wrists, but not for long because all of the sudden movements they made got enough air flowing in the surrounding area that the lighter went back out again, flooding them in darkness for a second time while they struggled with the undead creature below.

It held onto his leg with both hands while trying to lift it's head to take a bite of the meal it found, letting out sputtered grunts of sound in the process that were disgustingly excited.

Regan gripped Chris's wrists tighter just as she felt his weight growing because he'd lost his hold as he was pulled on while he struggled through the lack of lighting and lifted his free leg to try to kick the zombie off of him as he heard it grunting frantically into the darkness. Though he ended up missing with the first try, he got the general sense of where to aim next, and altered it.

With the second kick, he slammed the bottom of his boot into the zombie's face hard enough to successfully make it let him go. As soon as he was free and felt the extra weight leaving his body, hitting the wall from being pulled on, he heard Regan grunting as she held onto him as tightly as she could. Soon enough, he found the edge again with her help and started to pull himself back up.

Regan sat back in the darkness to give him some room, though she made sure to keep a hand on his back just in case something else happened on the way. Once he was on the ledge completely, she took a deep breath and asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, peachy," he muttered back sarcastically through the darkness around them and then asked her, "Where's the lighter?"

Just then, her Bic lighter lit up to offer some help, and she looked down to where she'd placed the zippo and reached out to grab it. But Chris had moved to push himself toward her suddenly when the light came back on, exclaiming the words, "Shit, watch out!"

She had no idea what was there that got Chris to react in such a way, but the movement made her gasp as he reached over her crouched form without warning. What she hadn't seen that Chris did was a zombie that was already kneeling down behind her when the little flame came on, ready to lean in to take a bite out of her.

Chris shoved the zombie backwards with both hands, and he made sure to do so hard enough that he pushed it off of the edge completely and into the water below. The movement jarred Regan into dropping her Bic down into the sewage in the process, plunging them into yet another blackout the moment the lighter left her hand.

She heard the much louder splash of the water as she sat back, able to feel Chris right next to her in the darkness and lit the zippo as soon as possible. When the light had come back on, she'd looked over and down to see the zombie he'd shoved away standing back up and heading toward the ledge to try to reach up the ten foot drop toward them both. Thankfully though, it couldn't reach them from there.

As soon as Regan saw the zombie, she gasped and cussed out, "Holy shit, I didn't even hear it."

"Yeah, neither did I," Chris replied before he muttered out, "sneaky bastards," then looked around the area for anything _else_ that might be approaching them silently without their notice.

Thankfully, he saw nothing. So with the only known threats being out of range at the moment, he stood back up and didn't waste time on waiting, pulling Regan up with him while he said, "Let's just get the hell out of here."

"No arguments there," Regan agreed, making her way over to the ladder leading up the wall with him, and then looked toward the top of it.

Nothing but darkness met their eyes above, saying that the exit was still covered, and Chris took the rungs while she waited with the lighter below, grabbing her handgun again in the process and turning her back to the ladder so that nothing else could sneak up on her while watching the zombie that had tried to do so just a few moments beforehand ambling in her direction below.

It let out a moan and Regan grumbled, wondering why it couldn't have done that to begin with. Or maybe it had but all of the commotion with Chris and the other zombie had drowned it out. Either way, it was an annoying thought, and with pursed lips, she muttered out the word, "Jackass," at it.

Meanwhile, Chris made it to the top, and though it was dark everywhere around him, he managed to find the cover and quietly lifted it up to peer around the street outside. Thankfully, there was a buzzing streetlight not too far from where he was, so while it wasn't the best vision available, he could still see, and he realized they were in a residential area now.

Houses lined both sides of the road, some with fenced in yards, others with trees on the lawn, and one with a car that was flipped over onto its hood laying on the grass. But nothing was moving around the area or in the roadway, and so he pushed the cover off of the exit and looked around a little more to see that the same story was true for the other end of the street.

Realizing the coast was clear for the moment, he glanced back down and said, "There's nothing up here. Climb up."

He could see her due to the lighter she held, and it suddenly went out as she'd gone to the ladder to start climbing up while Chris got onto the street and turned around to wait for her at the top.

Once out of the sewer, Regan put the cover back onto the hole rather than leaving it open while Chris stood and grabbed his weapon again. He also took his lighter back from Regan and pocketed it in favor of grabbing the radio on his belt, but he didn't stand still.

When Regan had her own weapon back out, he said, "Let's try to find somewhere a little more sheltered so I can see if the teams will pick us up now."

"Alright," she replied and began to move down the roadway with him, keeping her eyes open on everything she possibly could, including looking back more than once while heading toward a dim light they could see coming from up ahead and around a corner.

A few moments later, they came to a stop at the sidewalk on the end of the road where it branched to the left as another, smaller street that connected to a bigger one running horizontally about fifty yards away, the sign at the corner reading Ashedale Avenue and Florence Drive. They found out when they reached that corner that the source of the light they'd headed toward was coming from a very dimly glowing streetlight between the two homes across from one another on the road, one which didn't cast a very bright light, but with what they'd been through so far, it seemed like the sun had suddenly come up.

Nothing was on the roadway between the homes there, and Chris moved across the street quickly, getting to the side of the brick house next to where the glowing lamp stood before checking further down the street for any signs of danger while Regan moved in behind him, facing outward to protect their opposing side.

"Good, it seems like these back roads are less populated," Chris mentioned as they looked around and saw nothing immediately threatening. "We should have a better chance if we stick to them."

He decided that now was the best chance they would probably get to try to reach the search and rescue team before anything else could happen and try to get some more solid directions on how the hell to make it to the hospital from there.

Lifting the radio up, he said into it, "This is Chris, does anyone copy?"

Several moments passed with nothing but static coming through, and finally a voice came in on the radio, saying, "_This is Ajax, we copy you Chris, go ahead._"

Grateful he had a signal now, he started, "Ajax, be advised that our group has been separated. The tyrant took out our transportation with a rocket launcher after we were blocked on the road, and is probably pursuing Wesker now. We've lost contact with two of the survivors, though they said they were heading to the hospital before we got out of earshot. I think they have our GPS as well, so they'll probably be able to find it more easily."

Silence came back for a moment before they heard the confirmation given. "_Copy that update. We're still a good hour away from Cromwell, but we've contacted command and updated the situation since our last transmission. The head honcho has sent out some extra firepower in the form of a small team of special ops. They'll probably make it to Cromwell before we do, so just sit tight, or well, walk tight anyway._"

The thought that George had sent out some extra help made Chris smirk, replying, "Copy that, it's good to know. Any directions you can give us would be helpful. We're on the corner of Ashedale Avenue and Florence Drive right now."

"_Roger that, one moment._"

The radio got quiet, and finally, Leon came on the line and said, "_You're not too far away from there now, Chris, about three blocks. You'll need to look for a Hunt Street and take a left. From there, follow Village Lane south to Corsica Road, and taking that left will bring you to the extraction point."_

"Copy that. We'll be running silent again and try to get back in touch with you once we reach the hospital unless there's a problem. Over and out."

Once the transmission was over with, Chris put the radio back on his belt and looked at Regan, who was still watching the area with her weapon in hand held low near her side. But the look on her face was telling of her worry, and he asked, "Regan, you okay?"

She glanced up at him and lifted her brows, then looked around again and told him halfheartedly, "Yeah, sure, why not?"

Chris knew how that went all too well. He'd started to move toward the center of the road, not too far from from the light as he reminded her, "You know I'm not going to go anywhere until we find Shannon, don't you?"

"Don't," Regan started, looking back at him with a serious expression on her face. "I don't need you putting your life on the line anymore than you already have to help her, not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But you have family in Dallas to get back to. If mine's here," she started, looking around as if she'd already accepted the potential fate of her words, "then I'll stay here. I don't give a damn what that means."

Seeing how determined she was about it was definitely understandable to Chris, but he couldn't help returning how stubborn she'd just been, coming toward the center of the street where he'd stopped when he looked over at her and said in response, "Well I'm not letting that happen. We've made it this far, and I'm not giving up until you're both in Dallas and safe."

He heard Regan letting out a low sigh of breath as if his persistence was either grating on her nerves or just generally driving her up a wall, and he saw her parting her lips in order to make a response. Before she could though, Chris stopped her by adding to his statement in determination to get the idea through to her that he wasn't letting this go despite how she felt.

"Look, we're in this together, and I'm not leaving you _or_ her behind, not now goddamn it, so don't argue with me about this."

Chris had the most stubborn set of a jaw she thought she'd ever seen before, and Regan stayed quiet as she held the look he was giving her for a moment without flinching. Though it irritated her, she could only wonder if he'd ever know just how comforting those words had been, even if they'd been spoken with a bite to them or wound up being full of hot air.

But he had a right to be that stubborn after everything he'd gone through already from the way she figured it. They'd made it this far, and it seemed like they were in the homestretch now. Not to mention, he cared about what happened to Shannon, so this wasn't the time to be stubborn, and she knew it.

So she conceded by nodding at him and saying, "Alright, Chris. Let's keep our eyes open then."

"Okay," he affirmed, their understanding mutual, and his expression softening up a good bit.

But one thing she did notice in the light before he glanced away to look around the area again as they started walking was that once more, his eyes looked blue. She looked behind them to stay focused on what was going on and remembered noticing such a thing in a cave back in Alma if she remembered the name of the town correctly.

When they reached the next road, and saw that the sign said Hunt Street, they turned left. After several more feet of walking with the blissful absence of anything around that was threatening on the residential road currently, Regan also remembered that he'd been pretty upset when they were in that cave the last time she'd noticed an oddity in his eye color.

The little thoughts, oddly enough, helped her to focus on their situation instead of worrying about the worst things that could be happening just then, and she looked back in Chris's direction to notice him taking aim at a police car they'd started nearing that was settled on the side of the street with one of its doors wide open.

Regan kept her sights and aim off of the car and around the area while Chris checked it out, and when she didn't detect any threats just then, she turned her head to see that Chris apparently hadn't found any bodies in the car because he was checking inside of it. She briefly wondered if there would be anything useful for them to discover as he did so.

Chris found the keys in the ignition, and he reached over to use the handle to pop open the trunk. Then he pushed himself back and stood up straight, turning to head to the back of the car.

"She's still got the keys in the ignition, and there might be some ammunition in the trunk too," he told Regan once he'd stood up. Cop cars were notorious for that kind of thing after all, and Regan walked around to the back with him, but kept her eyes and her weapon on the surrounding area.

"You think it would be a good idea to try to drive it to the hospital instead of staying on foot?," she asked him while keeping her eyes open.

"I don't know, it depends on the roads, and on whether or not the car will work." Chris lifted the hood of the trunk as he said that while Regan stayed focused on the area around them when she suddenly heard Chris adding on a much happier tone of voice than he'd been speaking with before, "Now _that's_ what I'm talking about."

That got her to look over, and she saw a proverbial armory in the trunk of the car with not only ammunition, but also weapons. They were strapped to the lid of the trunk as well as packed inside of it, and finally, a slow smile of her own creased her lips.

"Looks like Santa came," she said before looking back around the area.

Snorting, Chris replied by saying, "He's late," as he pulled out one of the shotguns and checked the chambers to see that it was already loaded. Then he handed the weapon over to her, saying, "Here, she's already loaded. Merry Christmas." He had his own shotgun after all, so the extra firepower would be useful.

Regan took the weapon from him in one hand with the words, "Oh, pump action, guess I must've good this year," and saw him grinning as she harnessed her handgun with her other hand, then watched him pulling out a box of shells for the weapon which he also handed to her.

From there, Chris found some rifle ammo that he gave to Regan and then pulled out a utility belt that had a flashlight on it, checking to see that it worked, which it did. Pulling it off the belt, he stuck it through an empty loop on his own, and also found a combat knife which would easily replace the one he'd lost to the tyrant they'd taken out a few days ago.

As he stuck the blade into the strap across his chest and under his jacket, something else in the trunk caught his attention. Reaching down, he lifted up a .357 magnum revolver still held within a gun strap. Pulling it out and checking the chambers, he realized it was already loaded.

"We both must've been good this year," he said as he took the strap containing the weapon and put it around his upper leg while constantly checking the area around them in the meantime.

Regan looked over to see what he was talking about, and she smirked slightly, then looked around again while mentioning, "This must've been Dirty Harry's police car." Following the words, she groaned when a particular sensation she couldn't ignore anymore got to her, muttering out, "Goddamn it. Walking through that water is making my feet numb as all hell now."

"I know," he grumbled out in response, having gotten the same sensations in walking through the cold night air with wet shoes and socks on. "We'll keep moving and keep the blood circulating."

Regan nodded silently in response, shifting her weight from foot to foot to help keep them a bit warmer if she could. She was about to mention that if they _did_ take the car, maybe the heater would help, but stopped herself when she thought she saw something in the distance down the roadway.

Without question, she took aim with her newly acquired shotgun, keeping her eyes open on the area she thought she'd seen the fast moving figure in, which was a yard across the way in front of an average sized home. It wasn't too big, and had been moving low to the ground before it disappeared behind a tree.

Quietly, she snapped her fingers to get Chris's attention, and looked back as he'd put the extra bullets for the magnum into his belt pouch, and when he looked at her, she nodded her head in the direction she'd noticed the figure in before, quickly putting her gaze back onto the area.

Without a word, Chris turned from the car and took aim with his own shotgun that he'd been carrying strapped to his chest, looking in the same direction that she was when he thought he saw something down the road as well.

Without warning, several creatures came moving from a few of the yards surrounding them, and not just the one Regan had noticed at first, heading toward them much too fast to be able to tell what they were until they were almost on top of the duo.

Gunfire went off. The sound traveled through the area, and a few blocks away, Shannon looked up quickly, letting a soft gasp.

Turning her attention to the police officer with her, she asked very quietly, "Is that them?"

"Probably," Cecilia replied, having heard the distant gunfire herself. She wasn't entirely sure where Chris and Regan might have been in particular, too worried about her own situation to give it much thought, but the sound had to be only a few blocks away from the two of them now.

Currently, Cecilia and Shannon had been sneaking through neighborhoods after they'd managed to evade the initial group of zombies that had come after them. Their progress was slow despite having the GPS though as the police officer was trying her best to get through everywhere that she could completely undetected, especially for the child's sakes. Shannon was worried to death about her mother already, as well as about Chris, and she didn't need the extra scares surrounding them. Not to mention the fact that she was still recovering from being sick, and it sounded whenever the girl spoke.

More gunfire went off as if a fight had started a few blocks away while Cecilia was working her way to the corner of a street that possessed the back doors to a number of businesses on one side, homes on the other. It was a street that she knew led to a more urban area, and when the following shots ensued the first one, Shannon asked her on another silent whisper, "Should we try to make it to them?"

"No, sweety, I'm sorry," Cecilia replied, shaking her head and giving the girl a sympathetic look. "Those shots are too distant, and if we did that, we might not find them and run into trouble. I know the hospital is this way, and I have to get you there so we can all meet up."

Shannon didn't look happy over the verdict, but she didn't say anything to question it, and just sighed out a breath. Cecilia wished there was something else she could say to make the girl's hope a little stronger, but at current, she couldn't think of anything.

According to the GPS she had, they were only two blocks away from the hospital, so hopefully it wouldn't be too much longer before Shannon was reunited with her mother anyway. Cecilia would just have to keep going and try to make sure that happened.

As she rounded a corner into the urban area they'd been approaching once she'd checked the street from the back of a brick building to make sure it was safe, she suddenly noticed their point of interest could be seen standing high above the businesses just down the roadway that were facing them. It was precisely two blocks over from the looks of it, and though it was dark, Cecilia could faintly make out a white sign along the side at the top of the seven story tall building that read "St. Mary's Baptist General Hospital".

It stood there alone in the darkness, telling of the fact that Leon was right about it being in a more open area on the edge of town, being the reason he'd chosen it to extract them from if the worst case scenario happened, which it had. In either case, Cecilia was just glad she'd managed to find it.

Looking down, she gave Shannon the strengthened hope she'd been wanting to by saying, "Shannon, look at that." When the girl looked up, Cecilia asked her, "You see that tall building over the rooftops behind those businesses down the road?"

"Yeah?"

"Look at the sign at the top."

Shannon had to focus and squint, but she noticed it said the word "Hospital" in specific, which made her gasp. Looking up with wide eyes, she said, "We're close!"

She hadn't spoken loudly, but there was more excitement in her voice now than before, and Cecilia gave her a warm smile before nodding her head. "Yep, and so is your mom. So let's keep going and find her, okay?"

Shannon nodded with a little more oomph to the movement than she'd previously had, and Cecilia got going with her. But Cecilia was getting a bad feeling when it came to the task of actually getting inside of the hospital.

Somehow, she felt that getting there was the easy part. Getting inside, however, was going to be another game entirely.


	43. Splinter

_Chapter 42 - Splinter_

_ December 6__th__, 2007_

_ Cromwell, Texas_

The living had called it Market Square.

It was an area separating the residential neighborhood that Cecilia and Shannon had just come from and the hospital on the other side of it with businesses and wall to wall buildings along all four sides. In the center was a large median that was set up as a park, complete with a large fountain, benches, and a children's playground with a two lane road surrounding it in a wide rectangle with rounded edges.

It had probably been used a good bit by the hospital staff and visitors there before the world had gone to hell, but now it was just a graveyard.

According to the map, the Square had three small streets total that led into and out of it, including the one that Cecilia had just moved down with Shannon, which was at the farthest end from the hospital. The other two connected to a street called Corsica Road which was a two lane route that led from the front of St. Mary's Baptist and all the way through the center of the city. One of those two roads was located at the center of the square, and the other at the opposing end from where Cecilia was, currently sneaking to the side of a building and slowly peering around it, taking a look at the condition the Square had been left in.

A single streetlight was still working, shining a light dimly along the center median near to where the playground was located, which allowed for enough light to see the outlines of everything around, but not enough for detail. Cecilia let her green eyes scan the open spaces for any signs of movement she could see anywhere at all. Because the area was so wide open, it would be easy to run around anyone there who was infected, but also, it would give corpses more hiding places to pop out of unexpectedly.

Still, she saw nothing, though there _was_ a distant moaning chorus they could both hear which was sometimes referred to as being the song of the infected—a morbid way to describe it, but it did do the sound justice. Aside from that distant noise there were a few cars parked at the far end of the Square that had been abandoned, including a truck used for moving furniture. All of the businesses around also looked as if they'd been left mostly intact, except for those buildings at the same opposing end from where Cecilia stood that several cars had been left at.

Perhaps someone had come through the area and set off an explosion because one of the buildings looked as if a wall had partially caved in, but it was much too hard to see it from her vantage point in the current lighting.

But Cecilia paid that particular detail little mind and waited for just another moment. When nothing ever moved, she decided she'd have to make a run for it regardless of what popped up and use the wide open space to her advantage.

She looked back at Shannon and took her hand, saying, "Okay, I don't see anything, but it's a wide space, so we're going to run to those shops over there, and then move against the wall to get to the street again, alright?"

"Got it," Shannon nodded, taking the police officer's hand and a deep breath.

"Okay, let's go," Cecilia returned, then looked around the corner again to make sure the story hadn't changed, and started to move with Shannon at her side.

They made it down the road and by the median, coming to the wide sidewalk where they both headed to the wall outside of a bar where Cecilia had the thought of _I wish_ as she moved along. Not only was there a bar, but there was also a cafe, a clothing boutique, a few banks belonging to various branches, and a couple of fast food restaurants in the area. With the fountain in the center that no longer worked and the trees about, Cecilia could only imagine the place had actually been pretty nice when it was populated by the living, but sadly, it was just ominous and foreboding now.

She moved along the sidewalk, not too close to the stores or the road and the two cars parked on that end with Shannon right at her side, and headed to the turn at the center of the Square which would lead to Corsica Road where the hospital was supposed to be located. She kept looking around the place, never seeing anything moving which only made her feel uneasy, and began to approach the corner turn of the center road she was heading to where there was a large mailbox standing near the wall of a gift shop.

Cecilia continued to hold Shannon's hand as she put her back to the wall and held her weapon up at the ready in the other, inching her way to the corner to look between the buildings lining the small street that led to Corsica Road, seeing nothing there. So she stuck her head out a little further and looked down the street and into the dark distance.

Cecilia let out a sigh of breath as a stone hit the pit of her stomach. She could see the hospital's entrance in the distance from where she stood. They would have to cross Corsica Road and then a parking lot of the hospital and a set of stairs that led up to the doors so they could get inside. Under normal conditions, that wouldn't have been a problem whatsoever, just a stroll across the way.

But sadly these weren't normal conditions. Zombies were roaming in the street on Corsica Road and in the yard that led to the parking lot of the hospital, and there were plenty of them.

With a sigh of breath, knowing that there were too many to reach the hospital safely by just running to evade them, Cecilia thought her options over. Certainly, it was a wide open space in the hospital yard, but the thing was that those zombies on Corsica Road weren't too far from the other end of the street she was standing at the opposite corner of, and would block her from reaching it if she attempted to just run for it.

There was _always_ something.

"What's wrong?," Shannon asked quietly after Cecilia had stood back and been quiet for a few moments of thought.

With a sigh of breath, Cecilia crouched down low next to Shannon and told her softly, "The entrance of the hospital is around the corner, but there's some monster's in the way. So we're going to have to figure out another way to get inside. It might be a better idea if we run down to the far exit, but I don't know what it looks like down there either, and I don't want us to get stuck."

Shannon pursed her lips with a concerned expression on her face. As she did, Cecilia entertained the notion of a distraction perhaps. That could work, but she had to wonder what the hell she could use as one. If she could hot wire one of the abandoned cars in the area, that might draw attention away from them for long enough to allow the two of them to slip past their enemies.

The one thing that Cecilia _did_ know was that Shannon's safety was the most important thing. So whatever she did, she'd have to do it soon now.

"Can you shoot them?," Shannon asked her as she'd thought about it.

"No, there's too many for just me and I'd run out of ammo completely. The inside of the hospital might not be safe, so that would be a bad idea."

Cecilia had stood up as she'd spoken, slowly looking back around the corner to see the same sight, but none of the zombies were getting closer or moving away. Some of them were stationary, some of them were walking to...who the hell knew where, but they weren't leaving.

Cecilia was getting the idea that making some general noise to draw them into the wide open area of the Square while she hid with Shannon somewhere was definitely the best idea. Turning around to tell the child what her plan was, she stopped herself from speaking as soon as she looked back because a police officer who'd been dead for quite a while was right at Shannon as the little girl had been watching her and waiting on a verdict.

Apparently, it'd come from down the roadway behind them, perhaps one of the vehicles parked there, and had animated when they'd passed it.

Cecilia suddenly grabbed Shannon and pulled her back and out of harm's way behind her own body as she felt fingers grabbing her upper arms suddenly as the zombie decided to go for her instead with the child out of reach and gave a suddenly jerk to pull her in. Shannon gasped and looked up in time to see her protector getting snatched in a sudden grab as the decaying police officer went to try to sink his teeth into her neck.

Cecilia grabbed his shoulder in one hand and put up her other to block the bite that was aimed for a more vital spot, doing it quickly because the damned thing was much too close to allow much time. When she did, the zombie sank his teeth into her arm instead, blood spurting out of it not too far beneath her elbow. A gunshot sounded when she squeezed the trigger of the weapon in her hand due to the pain, along with a yell she tried to keep quiet but couldn't completely avoid letting out.

The sight of it got Shannon to let out a startled scream that was all on instinct as well. It wasn't as loud as it could have been due to the girl's previous illness, but it was loud enough.

The zombie was about to jerk its head back, but suddenly a knife slammed into the side of its head, stabbing down into it before being jerked back angrily. Cecilia had used her left hand to grab the weapon from her belt mostly on survival instinct while the former policeman was digging his teeth into her.

The zombie's second death got it to release her arm before it could do her anymore damage, and she grunted as she pushed it backwards as hard as she could, cringing and looking down at her now bleeding arm. Her teeth gritted together at the blood staining the sleeve of her sweater, but instead of focusing on it, she put her knife onto her belt again without trying to clean it off. She didn't have the time.

Looking up and around the area inside of the Square, she saw that at least two more zombies had gotten up and were heading toward them now through the dim lighting provided by the single burning street lamp. Without question, she turned and moved to the corner of the wall quickly and looked around the corner to check those that had been on the road outside of the Square.

When she did, she noticed that the undead on Corsica Road had heard the sounds as well, and were all heading their way now. The closest one was barely ten feet from their position, leaving Cecilia without the time to think up some elaborate scheme whatsoever. She had to act now. Her original plan would still work, she would just have to modify it a bit.

"Shit," she cussed too softly for Shannon to hear her, and then went over to the girl who was still standing on the sidewalk not too far from the mailbox.

"What are we gonna do?," Shannon asked with a good bit of concern on her raspy voice as Cecilia took her shoulder, then got her over to the mailbox by the wall.

" need you to squeeze behind here and hide, Shannon. They're coming and I have to draw them away from you to clear the path to the hospital."

"But you're hurt!"

"Don't worry about me, sweety. You just stay there, and stay quiet, keep your head down as much as you can."

Cecilia didn't allow the girl to argue. Instead, she turned with the thought to check the undead police officer she'd just put down, and found a gun on his belt like she'd hoped she would. Though her right arm now ached like crazy, she forced herself to take the extra gun into her left hand, and turned off the safety. Once that was done, she pushed herself up from her crouch and headed to the front of the street where the closest zombie had gotten a few feet feet from entering the square, and then aimed, firing.

The zombie's head exploded and the body fell back as Cecilia turned around and took the other two down that were already wandering through the Square toward her as well. Once she'd taken those two out, she called to Shannon with the intention of grabbing the gaze of the others heading into the area as much as she could, as well as to relay further instruction to the girl, who hopefully wasn't too scared to listen just then.

"Just stay hidden, Shannon! When they pass, you can run to the hospital. I'll go around to the side and be right behind you!"

Surely enough, the others were wandering toward Cecilia and away from the girl hidden behind the mailbox, reaching out and groaning. Cecilia absolutely hated doing this, leaving Shannon on the road by herself, hidden between a wall and a mail box, but she had to get these monsters away from her, and she didn't have time to explain everything. She couldn't just go back the other way with a group following them like that, and this gave Shannon the best shot at staying undetected and alive.

"Come and get me if you think you're fast enough!," she yelled at them angrily to keep their attention, only shooting once or twice in order to save on ammo since she had enough room to move still while backing away from them. She kept looking back at the same time to make sure nothing was sneaking up on her while she drew the crowd in.

At the other end of the median in the Square, she could see the third exit street to Corsica Road, the way out that she needed to take in order to catch up to the child as the roving band of undead closed in on her. She then looked to her left and realized that they were starting to gather around her side to the point that she wouldn't be able to go back the way she came anyway.

Once she was sure she'd given Shannon enough time, and knew that she wouldn't be able to move much farther back without getting herself killed, she turned and began to run swiftly to the exit street's corner as the undead altered their own course in order to follow in behind her.

But she came to a sudden stop. There was a street light on Corsica Road that was still working at least a little apparently because it was casting some light through the buildings and into the Square. In that light, Cecilia saw several shadows wandering across the wall and toward her position, following the sounds she'd been making until another group of zombies emerged from the other side, too many for her to shoot her way past and evade in order to get down the street.

In that moment, Cecilia realized she'd been blocked from following Shannon, and she looked back to try to see if the girl was still over there, but the darkness and the zombies in the way didn't give her a clear picture of it. Distracting her further from being able to tell was the fact that Zombies were on all sides of her except for one, which led to the cars abandoned in a line down the road, the same ones she'd spotted earlier when scoping out the area.

Looking them over, Cecilia spotted her only way out now.

"Shannon! Run! Get to the hospital!"

She had to yell that because she didn't have a choice in what she needed to do, putting one handgun on her belt and shoving the other into the back of her pants. While hoping to whatever higher powers there were that Shannon's path to the hospital was clear, Cecilia began to run for it with the closest of the zombies about seven feet away from her now, ducking around them and heading to the abandoned cars.

Once she was close enough, she jumped upwards and onto the hood of a sedan at the front of the line, then stepped up onto its roof. Without stopping, she headed toward the trunk before she pushed herself up onto the hood of the truck parked behind it. It was a moving truck which had a tall back end for storing furniture and other items inside of during transport, and Cecilia climbed up onto the top of that end and looked over at her only way out now.

It was a ladder that connected to a fire escape leading up the side of the building the cars had been left standing next to. The only trouble was that the ladder was several feet away from the top of the truck, so she'd have to jump for it. Also, it was folded up from the road at the bottom with a locked cover on it, making it in accessible from the sidewalk. Cecilia could've shot the lock off of course, but then the zombies might've followed her up, and the truck put her up high enough that, if she jumped over to it, she wouldn't have to.

It might've been risky to try to jump like that, but she really didn't have much of a choice. The zombies were already gathering around the vehicles as she stepped back, gauging her distance, and then sprinted head and pushed herself off of the roof with a grunt of effort, reaching her hands out for the rungs of the ladder as she headed toward it.

Cecilia just managed to latch onto it, her upper half hitting the cover as her legs went swinging above the reaching zombie's hands below. They only managed to brush the bottom of the boots she wore though, and Cecilia grunted over the pain in her right arm from the bite wound she had there, trying to cope as she held on as tightly as she could regardless of the pain she was in.

She didn't look down at the monsters who wanted her for a meal and meticulously reached up to the second rung of the ladder with her injured arm as she hung by her left. Once she had it, she reached up quickly and snatched the second rung, then did the same with the third and fourth until she could get her legs up to the ladder as well.

She only took a single moment to catch her breath before she began to climb much more easily with her legs in place, and she made it to the first landing where there were stairs instead of ladders to be used, heading up from landing to landing in a winding fashion. Cecilia took the turns swiftly as she climbed up the side of the five story building, only stopping once at the fourth one when a zombie who'd been laying there for a while had stood up and tried to grab her as she came around the corner.

In response, Cecilia held up her hands to grab its arms and grunted as she shoved it to the side before it could try to bite her. She then jerked it to the other side and grunted forcefully as she shoved it into the rail. The force got it to let go of her and stumble halfway over the side, so she reached down and grabbed it's legs, lifting it and dumping it off of the fire escape completely.

With the zombie eliminated, she continued on her way and reached the top of the building, climbing up the shorter ladder at the top and pulling herself over the edge of the roof. She was hoping as she went that she might be able to find some way of flagging someone down when the helicopters arrived because she knew that, for the moment, she was stuck. She wasn't sure if anyone would be able to see her in the darkness though, but damn it, she thought to herself, she had to try something.

As she stumbled to her feet on the roof finally, she leaned with her hands above her knees, panting from all of her exertions while keeping her head up so she could scan the rooftop quietly for the threat of further danger. After a few moments of doing so, she stood up straight and wiped the back of her hand across her head due to sweating, leaving a streak of blood across her skin that she didn't even think about as she panted steam into the cool night air.

Nothing was around, and Cecilia couldn't have been more thankful for that. But at the same time, the bite on her arm had started hurting even more without anything to distract her from it. Groaning, she tore her sweater off and then reached over to her left shirt sleeve and began to rip it from her shoulder. Once done, she used the clothe to tie around her arm above the wound as tightly as she could, double wrapping it.

When that task was completed, Cecilia looked out and over at the hospital in the distance, unable to reach it from where she was now. If she could use this time to collect herself though, she might be able to find an alternate way down from the rooftop she was on now and sneak over there before the helicopters came and left her behind. After all, the zombies were in the square mostly, so it wasn't an impossible idea.

She just hoped Shannon had made it, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with grief. Cringing, she leaned forward again as she pressed her hands to her stomach and took in several deep breaths, being bowled over with a sudden bought of remorse when she thought about everything. Memories of her sister, her family, and the little girl she'd just tried to save the life of were plaguing her, and she tried to push them out of her head. She had no time for sentiment and remorse now, she had to figure out what her best chances of survival were, but she couldn't help feeling the way she did when the chances were good that she was going to be stranded now.

Cecilia shook her head and snapped herself out of it by breathing more slowly. She refused to believe she'd let Wesker drag her out of Olathe just to get her stranded in an even bigger, even deadlier city. No, she'd find a fucking way out, even if she had to get it on her own. Somehow, she'd make it out.

Wesker, she thought for a moment. Where the hell was he anyway? Had he seen the tyrant coming and taken off beforehand to avoid it? Probably, she figured, but then again, who the hell knew for certain?

With the thought in mind, she stood up straight and tugged out her gun, checking to see how many rounds she had left. Because she hadn't actually shot at the zombies in the square, there was nearly a full clip in each of the guns she had now, and she still had an extra one to use, including her knife.

With the knowledge, she put the weapon back onto her belt and continued carrying one in her hand, heading across the roof so that she could try to find another way down. During her movements though, she heard some creaking, and she came to a stop and turned around quickly with her weapon aimed behind her when a loud snap came from that direction.

As she spun into place with her weapon drawn, she saw nothing there. Narrowing her brows in confusion over what the noise had been, she suddenly heard another crack, and this time, it came from beneath her. Looking down, the roof began to cave in, the floor beneath her boots growing unstable. Cecilia harnessed her gun, then stepped to the side slowly in order to try to find a more solid spot to stand on, but that movement just got it to crack even more swiftly.

It began to break in without hesitation, and Cecilia felt gravity pulling her downwards. As she fell below into the darkness of the inside of the building, and landed on a hardwood floor on her right side, she jerked and tensed up hard in pain suddenly, letting out a short yell. Something sharp had stabbed its way into her thigh, and though it didn't feel as if it'd gone too deeply, it was still an agonizing sensation.

Pushing herself onto her back slowly, she tried to orientate herself as the sound of debris falling further from the roof above her clattered onto the floor. She'd fallen into some kind of office from what she _could_ tell, but that wasn't much. The only light in the new chamber came from a large, arched window against one wall looking out over other buildings that were outside of the Market Square where she'd come from, and it was so dim that even against the window she would have trouble seeing anything.

But the pain in her leg drew her attention at first, she looked down through the darkness and saw _something_ sticking out of her leg about five inches below her hip, which she could tell was metal when she grabbed hold of it.

Preparing herself to jerk the thing out, she stopped short because she suddenly heard a few moans coming through the darkness. There simply wasn't enough light to see what or where the sound had come from, but Cecilia knew that whatever was around her now, there were more than one of them because a second groan came from another direction entirely, and then footsteps began to slowly shuffle along toward her.

Cecilia worked her way up, stumbling to her feet as she limped over to the only place in the room that she knew was zombie free, being by the window about ten feet away from where she'd initially fallen, grabbing her handgun from her belt again.

As she reached it, a set of hands suddenly came out of the darkness from the left and grabbed her shoulders, and Cecilia was jerked inward, startled to the point that she fell backwards with the zombie coming down on top of her as she instinctively tried to struggle and lost her weapon in the process. The sensation of the handgun falling from her fingertips got her to let out a yell that sounded more angry than it did fearful as she struggled to get the literally stinking bastard off of herself.

Tonight just wasn't her night.


	44. Flux

_Chapter 43 - Flux_

_ December 6__th__, 2007_

_ Hunt Street_

_ Cromwell, Texas_

After her experiences in Cromwell City, Regan had changed her mind about trying to get Shannon a dog whenever they reached Dallas. Instead, she figured a cat would work a lot better as a pet.

A pack of infected canines attacked her and Chris in the residential neighborhood they'd come to, the mutts mutilated in appearance even though the extent of which couldn't be seen very well through the darkness. They were all bigger dogs, a few German Shepherds, a Rottweiler, even a Golden Retriever—apparently all previous pets of the former citizens of Cromwell City.

Regan had the brief thought during the course of what had happened that if she saw any infected Chihuahuas, she wouldn't know whether to laugh or cry. Hell, maybe she'd just do both.

But she was forced along with Chris to take the cop car they'd found to escape when the canines attacked them. The mutts had moved very swiftly, and in the dark lighting, their speed was exceptionally dangerous. After a few shotgun blasts to take down the two that had reached them first, they'd gotten enough space to realize that more were heading in toward them quickly.

So Chris told Regan to get in the car without hesitation because outrunning the fast moving canines on foot wasn't advisable, and if they had a shot at saving some ammunition, he'd take it.

The both of them got into the cop car and Chris took the keys that were in the ignition into hand, hearing a yelp coming from across from him when Regan had shut the door on the snout of one of the approaching enemies. But she got the door shut as he turned the ignition over when another dog snapped at the driver's side window, leaving a trail of blood and slobber across it that didn't even phase Chris who focused on getting the car to come to life.

The damned vehicle was sputtering though, and it had to be due to the fact that the car door had been left open for a good long while now, which could drain the battery with the interior light being on for so long. Then again, maybe it hadn't been so long that it wouldn't come on with a few tries. Chris turned it again when a large Rottweiler jumped onto the hood and started snarling at them through the glass, scratching and pawing at it frantically and leaving trails of slobber and some streaks of blood across the windshield.

Regan looked over at Chris during the disgusting scene in the hopes that the car would start. When he turned the key a third time, the engine finally reacted and roared to life.

Letting a short breath out, he reached down for the gear, putting the car into drive and punching his foot into the gas hard.

Rubber began to squeal across the pavement as he turned the wheel to make a sharp right, the car going to the side and onto the road from the sidewalk swiftly while slinging the large dog off of the hood in the process. Chris then put it into reverse and backed up before setting her into drive once again. He had to turn around so that they could head in the direction that Leon had told them would lead to the hospital, which was taking Village Lane south at the end of Hunt Street.

A few thuds sounded outside as they ended up running over some of the undead hounds in the process while the blue and gold police car began moving. The pack of mutts gave chase as they got to the end of the road where Chris and Regan both realized that there were a number of zombies wandering about the lane they needed to turn onto, all of which began to head for their car as Chris put on the brake at the sharp right turn.

"Shit," he cussed, noticing that they couldn't go in that direction in the car anyway. There was an overturned sedan laying in the roadway at an angle, one that didn't completely cover the street, but covered enough of it that there just wasn't any room to drive through the space between the car and a nearby street lamp blocking their path.

The undead were gathering around the car as well, the dogs still heading in behind them, and fists began beating on the hood, roof, and the windows. In response, Chris warned Regan to, "Hold onto something," while putting the car in reverse and grabbing the back of the passenger's seat so he could look back.

As soon as he did, he put the pedal to the metal.

The car began to back away from the turn and down the road in a straight line for several feet, knocking a few of the dogs out of the way as it went while the undead human's began to follow. The resulting bumps and crunches of sound inside of the car didn't deter Chris, who kept driving in reverse until he was a good ways back from the creatures trying to get to them.

Once he'd gotten so far, he turned forward and took the wheel into both hands, then turned it to the right hard as he released the gas and slammed down the break. The result was to make the car swing around in a doughnut on the road, turning them around completely without making a three point turn, and he put the transmission back into drive before taking off swiftly down the road.

Regan hadn't _quite_ expected that, but she managed to hold on until the car had spun around completely, then looked ahead at the road when they came to a stop and Chris began to go down the road.

Hunt Street was long from the looks of it, though they hadn't been too far from Village Lane where Leon had directed them when they'd first walked to it. The other end stretched on for a good distance however, and Regan watched the dogs disappearing in the rear view mirror the further they got.

"This is like an incredibly _bad_ theme park ride," she grumbled out after all of the harsh turns and quick scares when she was startled into letting out a yell as another zombie thudded against the hood of the car and then rolled up and across the windshield, which cracked quickly beneath it without warning. Whoever the man or woman had been in life, they were wearing dark colors which didn't help Chris's vision—not that Chris would've really tried to avoid it to begin with.

But the body flew over the top of the roof as he sped on while Regan caught her breath and then closed her eyes for a moment and groaned. Hell, the quickness of it had even startled Chris, though his reaction was much different in that he'd only cussed out the word, "Shit!," when it had happened.

The new cracks in the glass thankfully weren't bad enough to stop him from seeing to drive however, and for the moment, he flipped on the headlights for just long enough to help him to see if the path were clear from there on or not. When he saw a turn up ahead, he started to slow down and shut the headlights back off, deciding that he'd only use them sparingly if he could. After all, he didn't want the damned battery to die out on them suddenly by pulling too much out of it.

Chris had to turn right instead of left there, which he knew led _away_ from Corsica Road, but they didn't have an alternate option just then. So he continued down along the new road called Monterrey Street for a few moments until he felt like there was enough space between them and the monsters they'd just left behind that they wouldn't be in too much trouble.

Once he did, he stopped the car in the middle of the street and turned to the computer store between the driver's and passenger's side.

Regan curiously looked over at him when he did, and figured he wanted to check it out and see if there was a map of the area available. When he stopped using the keyboard and began to scroll, she asked since she couldn't see the screen if he'd found one or not.

"Yeah," he started, checking the information out before adding, "we're not too far away."

Turning from the computer but leaving it open on the map screen so he could have it to help, he began to drive again and hoped that, in the meantime, he wouldn't be blocked. But the residential streets were mostly abandoned by cars, giving them less to worry about—seemed like everyone had tried to get out, not stay there.

"Good," she mentioned in response to the news quietly, watching the outside world as Chris began driving on in order to make it to Corsica Road.

Things grew silent as Chris drove at a normal pace because there was nothing on the streets that would get in his way to stop them—some luck for once it seemed. The moment of reprieve it gave them was completely welcome, but it was also a double edged blade as well. It allowed Regan more time to focus on her daughter and what might've been happening to her just then, which Chris figured out because of what he noticed her doing.

She'd squeezed her eyes shut when she realized where her mind was heading and reached up a hand to rub them, trying to inconspicuously take a few slow, deep breaths. Once she was done, she pulled her hand away and then stopped, noticing that it was shaking with the anxiety she felt. Even _he_ could see that it was shaking.

In an attempt to make it stop, she fisted her fingers and put them in front of her mouth, looking out and ahead at the road they were coming across now, which the sign for read Monterrey Street and Corsica Road. As soon as she saw that, she inhaled a little more deeply and let the breath out slowly.

Chris knew exactly what she was going through with her daughter separated from her in a city like this. It was the same as when he'd been chasing Claire down, who wasn't his child, but he was closer to his sibling than many could claim to be. He didn't want to let Regan sit there and stew in that kind of concern, so he spoke to her in order to try to distract her from it. Not to mention the silence was grating on his nerves as well because he had his own worries he didn't want to think about just then.

"Talk to me, Regan. We'll be there soon now, you know."

She was nodding when he glanced over after turning left onto Corsica Road and seeing that, for the most part, the section he'd ended up pulling onto was wide and didn't have many buildings surrounding the area. There were only a few undead people walking here and there, and some cars abandoned and settled in the way of their progress, but it was nothing so tightly packed that it couldn't be driven around. Though it slowed them down, Chris managed to get by each one.

As he worked on it, Regan responded to his statement by saying while watching the roads with him, "I know. I'm just worried and...pissed the fuck off."

"That makes two of us," he replied simply, showing that he was indeed pissed off when he came around a car just to see a few zombies in front of him, muttering out the words, "Goddamn it," as he'd punched the gas and ran the car through them. The corpses went sprawling over the hood and onto the roadway below, leaving good bit of cleared street up ahead of them in view.

So Chris kept going at the slightly accelerated pace in the hopes that they wouldn't come across anything else that would stop them for longer than it took to drive around it.

Seeing this, Regan leaned her head back, eyes closed, and said, "Next chance I get, I'm getting shitfaced." She'd battled alcoholism before, but after _this_, a night of drinking was well deserved.

Chris couldn't help the small smile the line gave him, asking, "Mind if I tag along for it?"

"Hell no," she replied and then looked back ahead again with the words, "the more the merrier."

The mood began to slowly change after that as the further down the road they got, the more they could see the hospital rising up in the distance over several buildings they were nearing that lined the left and right sides of the street. Some of them were tall, but none reached the height of the seven story hospital they were all heading to. In fact, from the angle he was approaching it, Chris could vaguely see that a chunk of the hospital's structure had been blown out, probably in some kind of military attack on the undead that might've happened early on in the outbreaks.

More evidence of that attack began to show up as they started to pass the buildings they were approaching. The roadways were completely devoid of life, several of the buildings with damages done to them while papers from offices were blowing through the streets. Cars were parked here and there, some of which were in the way and had to be driven around once again, but there was room to, and it only led to even worse scenery.

A truck on the side of the road had what used to be white clothe body bags piled up in the back of it, now so stained with dirt and blood that the color couldn't be named. In addition, there were quite a few more of those bags laying on the ground around it, ready to be hauled off and burned. Single bodies could be seen laying strewn about in other places as well, many with holes in their heads already, and one that was hanging across the hood of a car.

Some were military, most were civilian, and all told a chilling tale of the kind of havoc that had taken place in Cromwell before the entire town had died to the virus.

Blood was dried on the streets, and there was even a tank they passed that had been abandoned, crashed into a building because the driver had probably become infected. The rubble from that wreckage crunched lightly beneath the wheels as Chris drove over it in the police car, looking around at the sad story being told.

Because he'd been sticking to secondary roads and back ways for the majority of his trip, he had yet to see a lot of evidence of the military's fight against the infections firsthand, of the chaos and havoc that he always knew would arise if something made an outbreak on this large of a scale. But right here was a small taste of it, and even now, a few of the dead were still standing about as they passed, showing which side had won the battle in Cromwell and which had lost.

Without even considering it, Chris heard himself saying as if someone else were speaking the words, "This is right out of every nightmare I've had for the past ten years."

Regan had also been staring at the scenery. Being a former member of the army reserve, she couldn't help but briefly wonder if, had she continued that life, would she be one of these dead here now, or somewhere else even. It was an extremely sobering thought, but it was interrupted when Chris spoke those words.

The line cut through the silence like a knife, and it was only then that Regan realized just how heavily the air seemed to be hanging around them. She thought about what he'd said for a moment afterward, and realized what he meant by it precisely, that seeing the world like this was his worst fear come true. He'd fought to so hard to keep the world from going through something like this that the outside world now was just letting him know with even more clarity that everything he'd tried to stop had become a reality, and it was probably the last thing he needed to see.

There was nothing she could say about it though, and somehow, she got the feeling that he didn't want her to say anything. It had been plain to see since she'd known Chris that this affected him on more than just a professional level, it was personal, and Regan could only imagine the way he _felt_ about it all.

It did worry her though because she cared about him. But she wasn't sure if that caring gave her enough clout to try to make _this_ kind of thing any better, and in fact, she knew it didn't. Even _she_ felt the harsh sting of reality jabbing her in the gut on top of the empty pain of loss that the war zone they were passing through had exuded, and it was one of the most unpleasant feelings she'd ever had.

Chris realized he'd gripped the wheel much more tightly than he needed to, but he couldn't help it. Just as Regan had thought, the visions were much more impacting than even looking at the unpleasant expression he wore could tell. He tried to take in a deep breath and focus on their current situation only, but he kept remembering things from his past, all of the shit he'd ever been through that apparently hadn't stopped this from happening, and suddenly he realized that Regan was grabbing the wheel because he'd nearly veered off of the road.

"Chris!," she gasped out in order to get his attention, reaching over to steady him until he seemed to come to when he straightened the wheel up himself.

As the car began moving more normally again, Regan let out a sigh of breath and sat back again before she looked over at him and let go of the wheel. With a concerned expression, she asked, "You okay to keep driving?"

"I'm fine," he replied, his voice devoid of much emotion at all. He realized he'd just zoned out into memories surfacing that he didn't particularly want to have, and he told Regan, "Just wishing that drink would come sooner rather than later."

The words told Regan everything she needed to know about the way he felt just then, which was empty and hollow. So she said to him softly, "Alright, but keep talking. I don't care what the subject is."

The buildings were growing a little more sparse along the road, and they were approaching the hospital now as she'd said that. Chris knew she was trying to help him to stay focused, and so he said simply enough, "We're almost there, so I couldn't say much of anything."

"True enough," she gave, looking ahead again. After a brief moment of keeping her eyes on the area for signs of Shannon, she said, "Then let me say something to you. With everything that's happened, I'm glad I found a friend I can trust to help get through it. Just seems miraculous somehow, and after seeing that, I feel like I have to say it."

Chris knew exactly what she meant, especially after seeing the things they'd passed on the road previously. It was hard enough to find someone you could trust in the world before, so she wasn't just whistling Dixie as the saying went.

So as they approached the lot to enter it, he told her in return, "That's why I can't just leave you behind until we find Shannon. I need a friend that I can trust too."

Regan looked over at him thoughtfully, considering that for a minute before looking back out and around the parking lot. Finally, she shook her head and she informed him, "I just wish I had more experience to offer you to help."

"You do well, and you try. That's more than enough," he said meaningfully, looking around the lot himself in order to try to detect signs of danger because their ride in the police car was coming to an end.

Regan noticed something about the area as they took it all in, which was that it seemed pretty clear of undead, saying, "Huh, it's a little desolate around here."

"Yeah, not sure how much I can really appreciate that."

"Same here," Regan agreed while pulling out her shotgun as he silently drove the car around the lot and toward the front. They approached it from an angle on the right side, not able to get as close as they would have otherwise due to cars parked in their path, and as they came to a stop in the lot, she looked up the steps to the doors that led inside.

What she saw made her gasp.

There was a little girl in a bicycle helmet standing on the entryway at the top of the steps that led to the doors of the hospital. It was Shannon, trying to get inside of the building, and Regan's heart almost exploded when she saw that the girl was facing three zombies who were wandering up the steps toward her and Shannon couldn't quite get in because apparently, the doors were locked if the way she was jarring them was any indication.

"She's at the doors!"

Regan rushed out the words while grabbing the knob of the passenger side door so she could get out of the car.

Chris had already seen her himself as well, saying, "I'll go around the side to cover you."

Chris decided on that course of action because he not only saw a wheelchair access ramp that led up the right side of the entryway where a few other zombies were roaming at the bottom, one of them heading up toward Shannon, but also because he knew Regan was going to head straight for the monsters threatening her daughter without question. So he wanted to make sure nothing snuck up from somewhere else while that happened and take care of all the possibilities beforehand.

"Okay!," Regan called back to Chris as she'd gotten out of the car with him, heading across the lot and toward the steps as swiftly as she could make it there from where they'd parked. She was moving so much that she only got a glimpse of Shannon trying to run down the wheelchair accessible ramp to the right of the entryway and being blocked by another monster, which had her sandwiched between them now.

"Shannon!," Regan called out and heard gunfire coming from where Chris had moved to, but the little girl had already taken off around one of the zombies trying to block her and headed swiftly down the wheelchair ramp just as her mother reached the steps.

Forced to come to a stop, Regan took aim at the monsters blocking her now, all of which were turning around to face the grown woman rather than going after her child.

She wasted no time, firing at the corpses as they started approaching her. One went down, then another, and after she killed the two closest, she aimed at the third, letting a sudden gasp. The reason was because it was a little girl with long blonde hair that was Shannon's age or maybe less. It was hard to tell because she was missing a nose and patches of skin here and there, and had on a white dress that had been nice before it was ruined with blood and dirt. It wasn't something she'd expected to see.

But Regan didn't hesitate. Without mercy, she pulled the trigger, blowing a hole through the undead child's head and forcing herself to move on from it, aiming upwards at the last zombie wandering toward her now, and then she heard a loud scream coming from her daughter. Because of that, Regan pulled the trigger suddenly, glad for the buck shot of her new weapon as otherwise, she knew she would've missed completely with the sounds of her daughter's screaming and struggling hitting her ears.

Once the corpse was falling to the ground, and before it could even hit the floor of the entryway completely, she tore her way past it and called her daughter's name out desperately. In her head, she begged the words _please let her be okay!_ frantically to whatever greater power might've been listening as she reached the top of the ramp to run down it.

But she suddenly stopped at what she saw just ahead, her heart thudding almost painfully in her chest.

_Ten Minutes Ago - Market Square_

The infested streets of Cromwell were no place for an eight year old girl to be alone.

Sadly, fate made some strange choices sometimes.

Shannon could hear Cecilia from her position hiding behind the mailbox against the wall of the gift shop, telling her to wait until the zombies had passed among taunts being yelled at the undead in order to draw them away from her. The further away Cecilia got, the heavier the child's breathing became.

But as she watched from where she was hidden, she noticed the undead people were all going in the direction of the sound that Cecilia was making and ignoring her altogether. Despite her worry and fear, she was surprised. It was actually working, and Cecilia was right. They didn't see her there. Suddenly Shannon remembered something that Chris had told her about being smarter than they were and using your head. She would have to try to remember that now for sure.

With the realization that they would all pass her up and allow her to run to the hospital with Cecilia right behind her, Shannon took a deep breath, also reminding herself that her mother and Chris would be going to the hospital. All she had to do was run there and Cecilia would probably show up without warning. She was smart, after all. She could trick them up, and just had. All Shannon needed to do was listen and run when they passed.

She could do that, she told herself, waiting for the monsters to follow Cecilia to the other end of the Square and away from herself. But as they drew away, Shannon became aware of the sound of glass shattering above her and heard a thud of sound not too far from where she was hiding. She couldn't see around the mailbox to find it with her eyes in the dark light, but she clearly heard groaning coming from the other side of the object blocking her vision, and she began to pant with fear.

_You're smarter than them, you're smarter! Stay quiet, just stay quiet, they won't see you and go the other way!_

Yet another thud sounded behind the first one, but this time, a zombie rolled into Shannon's line of sight across the pavement and lay there for a moment. Breathing more heavily, she watched the man who'd just fallen out of the window above as he sat up slowly not far from where she was hidden away, an eyeball hanging out of his socket and grotesquely laying against his cheek. Even worse than that, the zombie looked over at her with it's one good, murky eye, and then reached an arm out for her with a low groan of sound, pushing itself up.

The sight of it alone got Shannon to scream again, though with the way her voice worked, the scream wasn't as loud as it could've been. Without a single moment of hesitation, Shannon pushed herself from behind the mailbox and ran as swiftly as she could carry herself, heading around the corner and onto the street that left the Square.

Though Cecilia had drawn most of them off, there was still a zombie lumbering down the very short street, and Shannon came to a stop when she saw it while it looked at her and reached out. Letting a short scream, Shannon turned and went the long way around it, and then started running toward the end of the road.

Once she'd gotten down the street and between the two buildings on each side of it, she emerged onto the now sparsely populated Corsica Road and saw a building in the distance across the parking lot. Once she did, she looked up at the top of that tall building, able to see the same sign on it that Cecilia had showed her earlier which said the name of the hospital near the roof, but she could see it much more clearly now.

That's where she had to go. St. Mary's Baptist.

"Okay, I can run there, Cecilia's behind me," she nodded as she spoke to herself, taking in a few deep breaths in preparation. But tears began stinging her eyes with the thought she next tried to convince herself of by saying, "Maybe Mama's already there with Chris. Maybe they'll see me. It's just too dark from this far away. So I gotta run closer."

With the verdict spoken aloud, Shannon started running across Corsica Road completely. As she went, and reached the yard of the hospital, she chanted to herself, "You're smarter than them, you're smarter than them!," over and over again.

The parking lot had some cars still parked within it, and Shannon made sure to keep her distance from them because of how her mother had always said they might be dangerous after the two had left Edgemont and wound up walking down a highway. She came to a stop briefly after she'd reached the lot so that she could spot the widest area to take, and then noticed a woman on the left side who began heading toward her.

Shannon gasped and backed up, but then looked right and took off toward another area, slipping between two empty parking spaces and coming around to the other side.

When she did, she began to look around for another path to take that would keep her away from the cars, but froze at what she saw when her gaze hit the middle area of the parking lot, staring with wide eyes. There was a little girl with long blonde hair who was about her same age and height, wearing what had once been a nice white dress. But Shannon could see, as the girl turned to face her, that she was missing her nose now and several patches of skin in various places along her body.

She looked over at Shannon and let out a groan, reaching out and heading toward her. When this happened, Shannon opened her mouth and screamed louder than she ever had in her entire life regardless of the illness that had plagued her recently. The sight of another child the same age as herself who was also a zombie scared her more than anything ever had.

Before she could even think, she'd turned and ran toward two of the cars, so frightened by the blonde girl that she didn't even think about staying away from vehicles anymore.

Thankfully, the cars she'd passed between weren't dangerous, and Shannon emerged on the other side of them at the sidewalk that led to the front steps of the hospital, then began to take them two at a time. She stumbled over one when she got to the top, planting her hands on the cement of the entryway to the doors in order to steady herself, and then looked up and around.

The entryway was somewhat narrow and led to a wheelchair access ramp on the right sides that went down to the sidewalk lining the parking lot below. There were a good number of doors in all, most of them automated which meant they wouldn't work without power, but some of them had handles as well.

Pushing herself back up, Shannon headed to the ones that did.

The zombies were still heading in behind her as she grabbed the handle to open one, but she couldn't push it all the way down and the door wouldn't budge. Shannon gasped and tried it again, and when she realized the door was locked, she started pushing on it faster as hard as she could, desperately telling it, "No! Open, please!"

Sadly, the door didn't operate on the despairing pleas of a child, so she went to the next to try that one instead. There were four doors in all, and each one she tried stayed solidly locked while the zombies drew in to the steps behind her. Shannon jarred each one back and forth as hard as she could until she realized that wouldn't change the fact that the hospital was locked and there was no way for her to get inside.

Panting as she let go with a whimper, she stepped back and then turned around, looking ahead and down the steps to see three corpses in all wandering up them toward her—including the blonde haired child who scared Shannon more than anything.

Unable to help herself, Shannon let out another scream when she saw the girl, and then turned to run down the wheelchair accessible ramp that led to the sidewalk, but she stopped short when she saw a fourth zombie wandering up it and toward her—a tall, thin man wearing a custodians uniform for the hospital.

Shannon looked back and forth, gripped by horror and uncertainty over her predicament as the monster's drew in closer to her from the front and the back. She found herself whimpering, as she stepped back a bit. With only one in front of her though, and knowing the child was getting closer behind her, Shannon let out a scream suddenly and forced herself to run toward the singular walking corpse.

Using her short height to her advantage, she ducked around the side of the former custodian just as he tried to quickly grab her. All he _did_ manage to grab was her backpack as she got past him.

"No! Let go!," Shannon yelled in fear as she slipped the straps off of her arms as quickly as she could, freeing herself before she continued running down the steps with absolutely no idea of what to do now, so scared that she didn't even hear the sudden sound of her name being yelled or even any gunfire going off.

She just kept running instead, panting when she got to the bottom of the steps, and as her shoes hit the sidewalk, she turned to run around the side of the building like Cecilia had been doing all along so they could both sneak to the hospital. As soon as her shoes hit the sidewalk though, she felt something grabbing her shoulder from behind just before she could take off.

The moment Shannon was stopped, she started screaming as loudly as she could in response, ready to pull her jacket off as well in order to escape, but an arm went around her waist in addition before she could slip away that fast.

"_No__! __Let me go__!_" Each word came out forced while kicking and struggling.

"Shannon! It's just me! Calm down!" Chris had managed to get hold of her, and even then, she'd put up quite a fight, though it didn't give him too much trouble as he rushed out the words.

Fear had such a harsh grip on her that she had to make herself realize what she'd just heard as he continued on to try to calm her down, saying, "Come on, it's okay," and still holding onto her tightly until she finally stilled and looked back at him.

Chris saw the state she was in easily, the way she was panting and trembling no mystery at all. There was dried blood on her cheek from a cut there and her eyes were wide and wild with fear. As they locked on him though, they suddenly began filling with tears as realization began to hit, and she threw herself at him, sobbing against his shoulder in a tight hug.

Chris thought he heard her saying something when she did that, but he also heard gunfire coming from the landing of the steps above them, distracting him. It wasn't the time and he needed to make sure Regan was alright now that he'd intercepted Shannon. He lifted her up after she'd grabbed him in a hug and made his way up to make sure her mother was alright.

Reaching the middle of the ramp, he looked up just as Regan had run toward it while calling her daughter's name on the way. But she came to a stop suddenly when she saw Chris coming up with the little girl safely in tow against his side.

Shannon looked up quickly when she heard her mother's voice that time around. Unable to help herself, as soon as she saw Regan, she sobbed out a desperate, "_Mommy_!"

Chris carried her over, saying on the way in order to put Regan's mind at ease, "She's shaken up, but she's alright." When he was close enough, he let Shannon reach over for her as Regan pulled her into a tight hug.

Hearing Shannon sobbing, Regan tried her best to withhold her own tears, kissing her daughter's cheek and saying, "It's alright now, we made it and you're safe."

She felt Shannon trembling and trying to nod against her, and started rubbing the back of her head and neck beneath the helmet she still wore in a soothing fashion. Regan felt as if she had to catch her breath, and not just because she'd run so fast to try to reach her daughter's side. Just having the girl back in her arms and safe was more than she could've ever asked for, and it made her breathless.

But they still weren't safe, and she opened her eyes with the knowledge in mind, seeing her daughter's backpack not far away on the entryway floor which she reached down to grab, doing whatever she could to hold in her own relieved tears for the moment while Shannon let them all out. She felt a few escaping anyway and running down her cheeks, but focused instead on what was going on around them.

That was when she turned to look over at Chris, seeing that he'd tugged the flashlight off of his belt and turned it on, shining it inside to check for danger possibly lurking in the darkness beyond the doors. After a moment of searching, all he saw was an empty entryway, so he put the flashlight back up and then lifted his shotgun, turning and slamming the butt of the weapon into the glass a few times in order to break it out so they could get inside.

As it began to shatter and crumble from the frame, he reached around to the inside and felt for a lock, turning it once he'd gotten hold of it, and then pushed the door the rest of the way open. From there, he looked over at Regan and Shannon, saying, "Come on, let's try to get up to the roof."

"What about Cecilia?," Regan asked as she moved over with Shannon still in her arms. With her fear for her daughter's safety, she hadn't even managed to remember the police officer beforehand, and then asked, "Where is she anyway?"

Finally, Shannon lifted her head up, reaching to wipe her eyes when she said softly, "She said she'd be behind me, but...," She trailed off and sniffled, then covered her mouth before she started coughing. All of the screaming she'd done before wasn't making it any easier for her to talk after her illness.

Regan exchanged a glance with Chris until her daughter stopped, then listened when Shannon explained on a despairing voice, "A policeman bit her."

"Honey, are you sure?" Regan asked the question because of how scared Shannon had been, just wanting to make sure Shannon knew what she'd seen.

"Y-yes...I saw...I saw it," Shannon told her mother certainly, hiccuping in the process of speaking. "He bit her arm cause she was trying to pull me away from him."

That definitely wasn't good news to either of them. Chris muttered out the words, "Damn it," somewhat quietly as he looked back at the hospital's yards to access the situation while telling Regan, "If she's been bitten, there's not much we can do for her. She might last a while, or she might already be one of them, there's no real timing for it."

Regan's brows narrowed when the weight of the words he'd spoken hit her as she looked over at him, asking, "We don't have a choice then, do we?"

"No, they're already homing in on us," he replied, seeing corpses wandering back down the roads from the Square where Shannon had just been and moving through the parking lot now. "They'd also block her path here regardless of if she came back this way or not. So let's just get inside and find a way to bar them out."

"Alright," Regan sighed out, turning to walk inside with her daughter in her arms, letting Chris open the door for them.

Using the flashlight and his handgun as he stepped into the reception area, Chris looked around everywhere he could to try to locate danger inside before it jumped out on them without warning. When he still saw nothing, he turned around to look for something to lock the doors with and found that there was a shudder made of a metal grating that could be used. So he reached up for it and opened the latches, tugging it down.

When he had it locked into place, he stood up straight and looked over at Regan and Shannon, seeing that Regan had set her down onto the floor and was giving her the backpack again before she kissed her child's forehead and hugged her again. He didn't have the time to really consider things the way he wanted to just then, including what he'd heard Shannon saying outside, but he felt damned good about seeing the two of them reunited, and anything good he could find, he'd take without question. He was going to try his best to keep them that way from there on out.

Regan told Shannon then that she had to help Chris so she couldn't carry her, and stood back up to get her weapon out and reloaded while Shannon locked her arms around her mother's leg. She looked more scared and unhappy Chris had seen her looking yet, and in passing them, he reached over and patted her shoulder gently to offer her a little silent comfort.

Afterward, he took his radio, getting on it and saying, "This is Chris, does anyone read me?"

Static came on the line followed by Leon's voice, saying, "_This is Leon, we copy you, Chris, go ahead._"

"Leon, we've made it to the hospital and regrouped with the child, but she says one of the people with us was bitten and we can't locate her in this. Wesker is also still MIA. I have no idea where the bastard could be, but I know I'll see him again before this is all over with."

"_Copy that. For now, just try to get to the helipad, or anywhere safe until we can arrive. We're still an hour away, but we just got word that the special ops sent in from Dallas is fifteen minutes from your position, so you'll have help there soon._"

"Roger that, it's good to know. We'll try to make our way up to the helipad in the meantime. If you can contact them, let them know. Over and out."

"_Will do, Chris._"

Chris put the radio back on his belt once the transmission was over with and looked back at the two with him. Regan had tugged her handgun out and she'd gotten Shannon to hold onto her belt so she could use both of her hands while they walked along.

"We're ready," Regan told him when he'd looked over. "My weapons are all reloaded and good to go."

"Alright," Chris replied, then looked down at Shannon, asking, "You ready, Squirt?"

Shannon gave him a silent thumbs up with a nod of her head despite her wary expression, and he found a small smile to give her in return, then looked back at Regan. "Okay, let's try to find the stairs."

Turning, he quietly began walking into the lobby of the hospital with the flashlight he'd found casting light into the darkened reception area. Regan stayed close with Shannon right behind her as they made it around the desk and continued toward a wide doorway in the back that led to a hallway going left and right. On the wall was a sign that had various directions pointing to differing places, and the one that said 'Stairwell' pointed in both.

Chris came to a stop near the corner of the door and held up a hand at Regan to silently tell her to wait as he looked inside the corridor both ways quietly. Regan stopped and continued looking around the reception area to make sure nothing was sneaking up on them, and then heard Chris saying, "It looks clear. Let's go and keep our eyes open."

With that, they began their ascent to the roof.


	45. Intel

_Chapter 45 - Intel_

_ December 6__th__, 2007_

_ Corsica Road_

_ Cromwell, Texas_

Standing inside of an empty office building just across the road from the hospital, Wesker was waiting for the right moment.

Everything had been silent for a short while now, and he was merely listening for the radio to go off again with some kind of update because he knew he'd lost the tyrant for the time being by sticking to the streets and going inside of buildings. Satellite may have been able to trace a heat signature, but he knew that moving quickly as he was prone to doing, on top of being inside of buildings, would make them loose their lock on him. There were only five people in Cromwell at the most who gave off a heat signature however, unless there was a group of survivors there that Wesker didn't know about which was highly unlikely. So keeping out of sight wasn't the easiest thing to do.

But he'd managed, and had yet to really have any kind of confrontation with the tyrant chasing him. For now, he'd taken a brief recess from running to stop inside of an office building on Corsica Road, and was looking at the hospital across the street in the darkness. It was easily seen through a large gap in the wall that had been left by heavy artillery fire, probably from the initial fights against the outbreaks when they'd first gotten started. After all, Cromwell looked as if it had been hit badly from what Wesker had seen when moving along the streets, so it didn't surprise him that these kinds of damages had been done.

At the moment, he was standing on the edge of a broken floor left behind by the explosion on the third story of the building. Since he'd been there, he'd heard one of Chris's transmissions with Leon, and found out that the helicopters were an hour from Cromwell with extra backup being sent in, and that Chris was heading to the hospital from three blocks away now. Chris said he would report when he made it to the hospital and for now he was running silent.

Like always, Chris was a survivor, Wesker thought to himself as he'd listened in on the conversation. Not surprising. But for the moment, Wesker didn't move. He was waiting for more contacts to be had that would announce the team's arrival before he would be heading anywhere at all.

During the silence, he watched the zombies wandering along the roadways below him through the shades he'd picked up in a store on the way to his new location, the undead completely oblivious to him where he was standing above them. In turn, his focus remained on waiting for the right moment while hiding his position from everyone else instead of paying the walking corpses any mind. While considering keeping himself sequestered away from others, an interruption came as he looked down when he heard something beeping in his jacket pocket, quirking a single brow over one of his shaded eyes.

Reaching inside of it, he tugged out the PDA that had belonged to Ada Wong previously, and saw that it was ringing. A small smirk came to his lips when he realized that an anonymous voice call was coming in, knowing that someone was trying to get a lock on his position by getting him to answer the phone, or so it would seem anyway.

He didn't answer. Not at first. Instead, he waited to see how persistent they might be. When it didn't stop ringing, he decided that perhaps he could be hospitable, but first, he accessed the menu of the PDA in order to set up a few options. He had to press the end button in order to do so, but as they saying went, if it was important, they'd call back.

Surely enough, only a few moments later, the PDA began to ring again, another voice call coming in. Lifting the device to his ear slowly, he said into it with no hurry in his voice whatsoever, "Sadly, I don't have the time to talk. There is a very large bioweapon looking for me that I need to stay clear of for the time being."

The voice that sounded over the phone in response was warbled, but still understandable, masked by some kind of sound scrambler. While that didn't surprise Wesker, the words spoken did—to an extent.

"_For now you can rest easy. The tyrant isn't pursuing you._"

"Hmm," Wesker drew out, "then I'll consider a discussion, saying this isn't a supposedly clever ruse of some type." He then added more sarcastically, "So tell me, you're not sore I've continually evaded you all this time, are you?"

"_Had you been captured,_" came the reply, "_you'd realize that you're wasting your effort in evasion. The rewards would be much more gratifying if you'd merely allow yourself to be brought in._"

"Isn't that an interesting concept," Wesker replied, not bothering to hide the illation in his voice that said he thought the comment was idiotic. "You're trying to insinuate that I'd find some enjoyment in being abducted. But if that were the case, you could have called me and sent a simple invitation rather than going to all of the trouble of apprehension."

"_We wanted to keep up appearances, which meant keeping __**you**__ out of the spotlight._"

Wesker quirked a single brow while looking out at the hospital across the way. Only somewhat curiously, he suggested, "Then you're implying that something here has been done for _my_ benefit. Yet another interesting concept you propose that holds no logical merit whatsoever."

"_In order to keep things quiet,_" the voice replied, "_certain parties have to be kept in the dark. You're one of the parties until a specific criteria has been met._"

"A specific criteria that includes me being placed into captivity? Perhaps a captivity where I'm prodded at with syringes and other such tools? Isn't it the virus you're most interested in? Or is it information I may have to offer?"

"_I'm not speaking for everyone involved with this, including those like Ada Wong. I managed to get her contact information, and I'm using it now to give you a little more insight into the situations at hand so that you can make a well informed decision. But I have to remain anonymous, otherwise this will come crashing down. So listen carefully._"

The voice got silent for a moment as Wesker did just that. Whether or not he thought this person was telling the truth, he wanted to know what might be said, and he took in every word easily.

"_The dispersal of the T Virus was deliberate due to the fact that a vaccination existed for it which would be put to mandatory use finally once it started spreading, making it rather obsolete in the current world of bioweaponry as you know. Other plans are being set into motion now that there's been a much needed shift in the balance of power, and if you're taken to Dallas, you will be assassinated while you're in holding without question. The alternative is to allow yourself to be abducted by the tyrant where you'll be brought to our facilities. Experimentation is what they have in mind. Information is a distant second benefit as all of your holdings have already been seized. But once you're here, I can then free you before anything happens._"

Wesker glanced to the side for a moment. It was fairly obvious to him that the T Virus being used in the attacks was deliberate already. Whoever was behind this wasn't specifically trying to kill everyone on the planet. The only reasons he could think for such usage of an outdated bioweapon would, in fact, be to shift the balance in power throughout the world, saying that was what the voice was referring to when it mentioned such a shift.

He needed particulars though, such as which countries had been hit hardest, who was recovering the fastest, and who was in need of what the most critically, before he could figure out more to this conspiracy.

But there were two differing groups he could think of immediately that could be behind the outbreaks, if not the both of them. One was Tricell, a pharmaceutical corporation based out of Europe and Africa that he'd been in contact with for varying reasons. The other was a group he'd had no direct contact with, only using couriers and such in an indirect manner to achieve his goals.

Then there was another organization, but Wesker didn't care to speculate on that one until he'd gotten more solid input.

As for his holdings being seized as the voice had suggested they'd been, that was another story entirely, and Wesker knew that whoever had said this was operating under ignorance alone.

But he didn't mention any of that. He only asked the most obvious question of, "What would _you_ have to gain in freeing me? I don't even know who you are."

"_I have a good amount of interest in your freedom._"

"_Why_?" His question was pointed and unyielding.

"_Anonymity is my only ally. I can't tell you __**why**__, though I also don't count on you to trust me._"

"With good reason, considering _you_ cannot trust _me_ with a name," Wesker replied to the voice austerely. "So I make you a counter proposal. If it suits your interests so well to see me freed, and if trust is such a great concern for you, then give a visit to Dallas where I'll likely be heading very soon now, though beyond there I'm uncertain. Either way, you may have a bit of security to deal with whenever you do, but beggars can't be choosers."

Wesker didn't offer more than that. He merely hung up the PDA, looking at the device with the thought of _desperate measures_ in mind. But, as he checked the menu, he noticed he had a file saved, and a little smirk lifted the corner of his mouth before he put the device back into his jacket pocket. So much of that conversation would play right into his hands so well later that his night may have just been made.

There were two possible scenarios to the situation. The person who'd gotten in touch with him was running for their lives and happened to have enough resources that they could contact him as they had, or they were high up in the conspiracy against the world now, and were trying anything they could in order to get him into custody. They wouldn't have been able to stop the tyrant from it's mission objectives otherwise—saying they actually _had_ stopped the tyrant at all.

There were simply too many questions and no one to trust but himself.

Wesker could also only wonder how many of his holdings actually were still his own. He had a good number of facilities located throughout the world after all, and he didn't let just anyone know what was his. In fact, many people who worked in those facilities had no idea they were his. Wesker wasn't known for sharing after all, and while he was very certain he still had at least one fortress that would be completely untouched by the events taking place in the world now, he would have to make it there before he could decide precisely what was what, including his next step in the game.

So letting the tyrant capture him? Out of the question. Wesker was under no delusions that Dallas wasn't going to treat him any better either, but in picking and choosing his fate for himself, Dallas was like a five star hotel compared to what his alternatives currently were.

"And the plot thickens," he muttered out as he turned to walk away, deciding to move on in order to keep his position a secret.

Wesker only took a few steps when he came to a stop however because he'd heard a sound coming from above, which gave him pause. It was the sound of a crash as if a wall had been broken through perhaps, but it wasn't the tyrant, a fact he knew easily because the tyrant wouldn't have given away its position in such a fashion.

Looking up, he lifted a brow, and decided that seeing what might've been going on above him now wouldn't take too long to do.

The floor above was just as dark as the one below, but Wesker could see fairly well, and he noticed that Cecilia had just stood from the floor after apparently crashing through the roof for whatever reason. But the building was unstable after all—the fight against the outbreaks had destabilized the foundation previously. Perhaps she'd been on the roof and had stepped on a bad spot which then gave way beneath her.

Cecilia didn't look any better for the wear either. Wesker could see, as she got to her feet when she realized she wasn't alone in the room, that she'd been bitten again, and apparently, she had a metal rod sticking out of her thigh. But she was backing away with a limp in her gait from about five zombies moving through the dark office and toward her now.

Perhaps the child with her before had already been killed, Wesker considered, but he stayed right where he was without lifting a finger to help, watching as she'd backed to the window where he could clearly see a zombie laying in dark wait to her left, one which managed to grab the unwitting woman who couldn't see very well in the lack of lighting. They both fell over and Cecilia lost her gun, struggling with the monster, trying to hold it off as it tried to consume her.

She'd managed to reach out a hand to search for her missing weapon as well. In that moment, it was very tempting for Wesker to tell her 'three feet to the left and you'll have it', but he stayed quiet in order to see what she might do. He had to admit that she didn't disappoint either.

Suddenly, she'd changed her mind from trying to find the weapon she'd lost, and instead reached down to the metal rod sticking out of her leg while holding the zombie back with her left arm beneath its throat. Letting a loud yell, Cecilia jerked the rod out of her thigh, and then swung it at the rotting corpse's cranium, stabbing the rod deeply into its temple with a spurt of blood, an act that caused the body to grow limp on top of her.

Wesker lifted a brow when she didn't move the corpse off of herself either, and instead, began to use it like a protective blanket while the other zombies approached. She must have had another handgun hidden on her person somewhere as well because of what happened next. As one of the hungry corpses had knelt down and grabbed at the twice dead body laying across her instead of grabbing living human beneath it, then began leaning in closely as if to bite, a gunshot sounded and the body fell back.

She was using the corpse as shielding to draw them close enough that she could see them in the very dim light provided by the window she was laying in front of before she shot them all in the head, even when two managed to reach her at the same time. Soon, there was a pile of corpses laying around her, blood spattering across the floor, and Cecilia stayed right where she was, listening for more sound before she made an attempt to move.

Smirking over the display of survival skills, Wesker finally announced his presence when she'd managed to defeat the enemies by saying, "You've taken care of them all, Miss Chase, there are none left."

Hearing this, Cecilia looked up through the darkness quickly and asked, "Wesker?"

"Yes, I happened by when you were so cleverly fighting for your life. That was a cunning display, though I see you're no better for the wear currently."

"Yeah, no shit," Cecilia muttered back while kicking the corpse off of herself now that she knew for certain there was nothing else in the room that might threaten her. Pushing herself up, she checked her bleeding leg, realizing that she could walk, but running might be a different story. It wasn't the worst wound she'd ever had before though, and decided that she'd just ignore it for now. Besides, she didn't have anything to bandage it up with anyway.

So she turned and started checking about for her missing handgun, and she had to push over the corpses she'd just taken out because it was probably laying under one of them. While she searched, she asked Wesker in addition, "Where the hell have _you_ been anyway?"

"Playing hide and go seek," he replied on a sarcastic tone of voice. "I was just on my way out though. I have the distinct feeling I may have overstayed my welcome here."

"Why not just run to the hospital to begin with?" As Cecilia asked that, she'd pushed a corpse to the side and could clearly see the outline of a gun laying on the floor. Without question, she reached over and picked it up, then put it into her holster.

"I'm waiting for search and rescue and shielding myself in the meantime," Wesker informed the former police officer as she'd finally located her missing weapon and stood back up straight again. "The added firepower will be useful in taking the Tyrant down."

Practical, Cecilia thought, remembering that he only did things out of necessity in a manner that gave him the most gain. But that did make her curious, and she asked as she looked over at what she could see of his outline through the darkness, "Aren't you afraid you might compromise your own way out of here by doing that?"

"No, I heard a transmission on the radio earlier. Dallas is sending out extra firepower in the form of a team of special ops. That should-," he stopped when he heard the radio again, looking down at his belt. Both of them grew quiet when Chris's voice sounded through the room, followed by Leon's.

From the conversation they learned that Chris had made it to the hospital, and when Cecilia heard that they had Shannon with them, she felt relief wash over her so heavily that it almost made her dizzy. Or maybe that was the blood loss, she wasn't entirely certain. Either way though, she focused as they also said that they had no idea where she herself was and couldn't locate her in this, and then heard that the team of Special Ops were fifteen minutes away from the hospital.

When the transmission ended, Wesker looked back up and said, "I think it's time we made our debut at the hospital."

"We?," Cecilia asked him on a slightly surprised, yet still bland tone of voice. "Couldn't you could make it there faster on your own?"

"You look capable of walking to me," he told her plainly enough.

"Yeah, sure, walking's alright, but running's going to be slowed down," she explained. "Won't I just hinder you?"

Smirking, Wesker said as if he were amused, "You know me so well now. But in all honesty, I'd rather bring you along than leave you behind. You're still skilled and that's useful to me right now. Not to mention, I'm in no hurry to get to the top of the hospital. Not before the teams arrive anyway."

With the words in play, and though he didn't give her the full truth of matters as he so rarely did to anyone on any given occasion, he asked her properly, "Shall we?"

Cecilia took a few deep breaths as she considered it. She was aware of what might happen, but hell, she had nothing to loose, so she finally shrugged and said, "I don't have anything better planned to do, so I guess we're going."

Wesker smirked over the way she'd put the words, about to take her hand so they could make a quick escape through the window by jumping down to the alleyway below them, but they both stopped when a sudden sound hit their ears coming from the distance. It was a shriek of some type, one that was high pitched and angry, and it wasn't too far from where they were currently standing.

"Now what?," Cecilia asked, grabbing both of her weapons and holding them at the ready.

Wesker knew that sound, and he thought it was interesting. Apparently, his recent conversation on the phone had prompted someone to unleash something a little more potent than a simple tyrant in a city full of the undead, not that a tyrant was entirely simple. But the stakes of the game had just risen with the presence of the new threat, and Wesker moved toward Cecilia and out of the way of the window when a sudden crash sounded as the source of the shriek burst through it.

A thud hit the floor among the shattering of glass, Cecilia ducking to the side and against the wall as the incident occurred in order to take cover. Once she had, she looked back through the darkness as much as she could to see a figure that looked as if it were hunched over on two legs, and besides that, she could only make out the single detail that whatever it was, it _wasn't_ human.

It turned and moved fast as well, suddenly leaping toward both her and Wesker with another angry shriek. Before Cecilia could even get her guns up though, Wesker had moved toward it and swung a leg around high through the air, making sure to do so hard enough that when his heel connected with the monster's head, it crushed it and killed it. The resulting hit also ended up knocking the creature back through the broken window and out of the room completely, the body falling to the cement below.

He could hear Cecilia breathing somewhat heavily behind him when things grew quiet again as he stood up straight from the roundhouse he'd performed. That was when she asked, "Okay, what the hell was _that_?"

"It was a sign," Wesker replied, "that those who want me brought in aren't happy that I'm so close to escaping their grasp now."

Following the words, and without asking, Wesker reached over and grabbed the woman with him now, tugging her up and over his shoulder with no trouble at all. Cecilia had gasped, the movement unexpected, and before she could ask what he was doing, he moved toward the broken window and leapt out of it. Though it was sudden, she didn't yell on the way down, staying silent but still cringing and keeping her eyes shut tightly as Wesker landed in the same alleyway below where the body of the monster was laying.

Standing from his crouch, he placed her back onto her feet and Cecilia stumbled back a bit, but managed to maintain her footing. The alleyway was empty of undead at that moment, as she looked about, and that was when the corpse of the monster caught her attention. With the help of a distantly buzzing streetlight, she could see a little more to the creature now, it's skin a dark green color and it's fingers possessing reptilian claws.

"Okay, no, Wesker," she said, looking back at the for an explanation as she started to move in behind him, heading toward the end of the empty alleyway. "You're going to need to explain a little more than it's a sign to get moving. What the hell is that thing _exactly_?"

"I will tell you once we reach the hospital, but expect to see more for certain," Wesker replied simply enough, feeling that she would in fact need more information to have a tactical advantage, and he said no more than that for the time being.

Instead, Wesker pushed on without question so that they could make it to the hospital as quickly as possible, and Cecilia, despite her injury, managed to keep pretty good time. She either didn't want anymore of the creatures that had just attacked them to find them again, or she was simply eager to have this all over with. Probably both.

The pains shooting through her leg weren't pleasant, but she'd resolved herself to grin and bear it. After all, they were getting closer to escaping this nightmare, and she wanted to get out of there so badly that it drove the pain she was in to a minor concern on her list completely.

With any luck at all, their way up to the top floor wouldn't be too hard to accomplish. With Chris ahead of him, he would clear their way which Wesker could then take advantage of, that was, as long as he could figure out which way Chris had gone. But it wasn't hard to do so in judging by the direction the zombies were trying to head in as they drew closer to the facility altogether.

The new threat, however, told Wesker that whomever had called him earlier _had_ to be the culprits of sending in hunters to try to stop him from reaching Dallas. That being the case, they hadn't sent the hunters in for _him_ in specific. Instead, they would attack _anyone_ and try to prevent him from going anywhere altogether, which meant attacking the special ops teams and search and rescue alike. The intensity of the game had definitely increased, and Wesker could only imagine what things might be like whenever they finally made it to the helipad.

But the intel he'd gotten from their call would come in handy in ways they wouldn't want it to. Wesker would see to that without question.


	46. Trigger

_Chapter 46 - Trigger_

_ December 6__th__, 2007_

_ St. Mary's Baptist General Hospital_

_ Cromwell, Texas_

It was no longer a hospital. The term "morgue" did it more justice.

After working his way across the first floor with Regan and Shannon, Chris found the entrance into the stairwell in one of the left wings of the hospital. They'd run into problems here or there, some which they passed and some that they took out, but none of which were overly complicated. Still, the facility was in shambles, and if anything gave the group a problem, it was trying to get around debris from various cave ins.

Bullet holes lined walls in places, glass windows had been broken out, bodies were found here and there, and it all told the story that at some point, the building was being used as a refuge for people, but one that apparently didn't last very long. Some of the corpses suggested that those hiding in the hospital from the infection had eventually tried to escape, others telling of a gruesome death of being eaten alive completely.

The ambiance of the environment was on the tense side, and not just because of the corpses, both dead and walking. Most hospitals had backup generators to provide power during blackouts, and St. Mary's Baptist was no exception. Yet, only a few lights worked sporadically throughout the building, and like the streetlights in the city that were sucking up the rest of the juice available, they were buzzing or so dimly lit that they didn't help matters much. Every now and again, one of them would make a pop of sound, and that only startled the living trying to survive a walk through the hallways now.

To top this off, strange sounds could be heard that had no explanation. In walking down a hallway, they would hear a creak coming from an opposing direction, turn to aim in that direction, but see or hear nothing further. It could have been anything that made the sound, and it only made the situation feel that much worse.

Chris got the feeling that some of the sounds were probably being made by the rats which had invaded the building, some of which he saw scurrying along the floor. Then, there were a few that were bigger than normal because they'd become infected with the virus, but they were easily avoided in general as the group had moved, or taken out if the situation called for it.

The three of them all stuck close together while continuing on until they got inside of the double doors that led to the stairs which would hopefully take them all the way to the top floor without a problem. It was dark to the point of pitch blackness inside of the chamber the stairwell was housed in as well because there weren't any windows to help guide them. Chris's flashlight was the only way that they could see, and due to the lack of any ventilation in the chamber at all, there was a stench of death about that could've knocked even the strongest of people off of their feet.

Regan covered her mouth and nose when she detected it, looking over to see Chris cringing over the foul air they had to breathe in now. She looked down at her daughter as well, who had grown very still in that moment. But suddenly, Shannon began to gag.

"Shannon," Regan started, leaning down as the little girl wretched, holding onto her arm and patting her back to try to help her. Shannon didn't have anything on her stomach however, so nothing came up, dry heaving a time or two before she put covered her mouth and nose with her hand as she tried to breathe again.

"Are you okay?" Regan asked when her daughter grew still, settled on one knee next to Shannon as Chris had moved around to her opposing side.

Shannon began to nod in response. "I...think so," she started, taking another slow breath. Then she cringed again and said, "It's so...terrible."

Regan agreed with that completely. She couldn't help but notice that Shannon looked pale though, probably from all of the scares she'd gotten that night, and let out a soft sigh of breath. She might have trouble trying to climb all of these stairs alone, and with the thought in mind, she looked up at Chris to say so.

"I'm a little worried about her climbing these stairs. It's seven floors and she's exhausted. I might need to carry her."

Chris knew where Regan was coming from because he'd had the same thought a moment prior. They didn't need to wear Shannon down anymore than she already was. The poor girl had been through enough that night, and with the way she was gagging over the stench in the chamber—something Chris couldn't blame her for at all—he knew she would only feel worse trying to climb them.

That was when Shannon looked up after she'd tugged her collar over her mouth and nose, saying through the fabric of the light blue shirt she wore, "I'm okay, mama. You need to help Chris keep us safe. I can walk."

Regan let out a sigh of breath as if she weren't completely convinced. Then she glanced up at Chris who was looking up at the stairs as he'd said, "We can let her try to walk for now. But Shannon, if you need some help, tell us. Don't keep it a secret."

"Okay, Chris," Shannon replied with a nod of her head, then looked at her mama and offered her a weak smile as if trying to reassure her.

Regan let a soft groan of breath over the sight of her daughter trying to convince her that she'd be fine, then stood up straight again, replying, "Alright, as long as you let us know."

"I will," Shannon returned, giving her mother a thumbs up. "So, let's get going, okay? It stinks in here too much to stand around."

"Good idea," Chris muttered out. The sooner they left, the better.

As it turned out, the stairwell stunk with good reason. On nearly every floor they reached was a body, or more than one, and without any windows or active vents, the stench had only gotten worse and worse over time. It was a definite hit to the gut, one that didn't make the ascent any easier, and they only took it slowly due to potential danger lurking in the darkness, as well as because of Shannon's state of being.

The flashlight Chris had found came in extremely handy because the lack of windows in the stairwell made nearly everything outside of the light he had pitch black. Also, if it hadn't been for that handy tool, they would've gotten killed easily or had to find a place on the first floor to sit and wait in safety until the teams could arrive because they also ran into a few walking corpses on some of those landings. Aside from that, however, they didn't have too much of a problem and heading up the stairs was pretty easy.

Until they reached the fifth floor.

Heading up to the landing there, they learned that sadly, they couldn't make it all the way to the seventh story because of a cave in above. Chris had the thought that it was probably the same area he'd spied when approaching the hospital from Corsica Road that had somehow sustained a good bit of damage because rubble was covering the stairs and the roof had fallen through at the top, blocking them out completely.

The good news was that they could leave the stinking area behind. The bad news was that they were going to have to cross another floor.

Avoiding the corpses that had been laid out, Regan mentioned after they'd looked the wreckage over to see that there wasn't a way through it, "I hope the other stairwells don't look the same as this one."

Chris agreed by saying, "Right, though you can't argue it would be along our particular brand of luck tonight."

He heard Regan groaning as if she wished that weren't true while she checked her weapons again to see what her ammunition looked like before they had to take up the task of moving across the fifth floor. Chris looked over and down at Shannon during that time, who was still right next to her mother and standing between them both now. Wanting to make sure she was alright because she'd been so quiet on the way up, he knelt down near her before they moved on and put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

"Hey, how're you holding up, Squirt?"

Looking over, she admitted quietly, "I don't know," and pursed her lips at him. "I just wanna go home or...I mean, somewhere safe. Somewhere _else_," she enunciated.

"I hear ya," Chris sighed out, giving her an understanding look. "But we'll run across this floor and find the next staircase to get to the roof as fast as we can. You gonna be okay to keep walking?"

"Yeah," she replied, then gave him a thumbs up even though the expression on her face was a little weak. "You need mama's help for this, and I'm ready to get out of here." Then she added a little more dejectedly, "And I'm sorry if I slowed you down too."

Regan opened her mouth to say something, but Chris beat her to it. "You didn't slow us down, don't even think that." To make her feel a little better, he added, "You should've seen what your mom did to get back to you. So no apologies, you're not a burden, got it?"

"Got it," she nodded, then smiled a little weakly. "Thanks, Chris."

"Good," Chris said in response before giving her a little return smile. Once he had, he stood up straight again, looking over at Regan. "Let's get out of here."

"The sooner the better," she replied, turning to go to the double doors with him.

They approached with Regan at one side while Chris went to the other, and Shannon stayed behind her mother. Regan reached across to push the door open so that Chris could use both hands to aim and shine the flashlight inside at the same time.

Another dark area met his eyes, which was a hallway from what he could see, and though there was nothing undead in view, moaning could be heard coming from somewhere very close inside as soon as Regan held the door cracked open.

Chris shined the light about to look the new area over as thoroughly as possible from his vantage point, then jerked when he saw a decaying face popping up right in front of him on the other side, a hand reaching through the crack to try to grab him. Conveniently enough though, the zombie had popped up right in front of his weapon as it'd gone for his throat, so he pulled the trigger without question.

Because of this, the zombie never managed to grip him as the body went falling backwards, blood and gore spattering out from the opposing side of it's head. Everything grew completely silent after that while Chris looked over at Regan and let a frustrated sigh of breath out. Regan looked just as irritated after the quick scare as he did.

Sarcastically, Regan asked him, "You think they do it on purpose?"

"Seems like it," he muttered back, then waited and listened for further sound before moving in.

When nothing immediately happened, he reached up and pushed the door open completely, stepping inside of a hallway that led down to a nurse's station not too far away with a large window on the wall across from it that looked outside at the clear night. Blood was spattered across the wall, dried because it had been there for so long, including several hand prints not only on the wall, but across the floor with a dried trail of black crimson, saying someone might've been caught and eaten there. But besides the body Chris stepped over which he'd just killed, there weren't any other corpses in sight at that particular point of their journey.

Chris ignored the morbid story of the area that was left in the blood though and pushed the corpse of the zombie he'd killed to the side with his foot to get it out of the way. After all, if they had to come running back, he didn't want anyone, particularly Shannon, tripping over it.

When he was done, Regan moved in with Shannon who was holding onto her belt again, and she put one hand against her daughter's head to hold it to her hip and cover her eyes until they'd made it past the twice dead corpse laying on the floor now. Shannon had seen enough that night and didn't need anything extra to have nightmares about later.

She didn't struggle with her mother either because she didn't _want_ to look, and when she felt her mother letting go, she trusted that it was safe and lifted her head, glancing up at what she could see of the adults with her in the close to pitch blackness they had around them. She then heard more moaning sounds, and she gripped her mother's belt tightly in response to it.

They came to the nurse's station where two zombies were standing, dressed in civilian clothing like a few others they'd seen which said some people had probably tried to take shelter inside of the hospital when the outbreaks had started. The monster's began to turn and head for them without question whenever the living rounded the corner, and the sad thing was that the spaces were so small that the undead didn't have to go far to get within reach.

Chris and Regan took one out a piece with ease however, thanks to their weapons, and after the zombies had fallen, Regan heard Chris saying, "We need to stay out of these tight spaces and get to somewhere more open as soon as we can."

She knew what he meant, but they had no choice about where they were currently, so she didn't comment on it and instead looked down at Shannon, who was still right there with her, holding her belt tightly and being quiet. During that brief moment of silence before they started moving on, Regan heard something a little distant, and she glanced over at Chris who'd started to move away.

"Wait, Chris," she started, then listened again as he looked back over at her. Finally, she asked him, "Do you hear that?"

Chris listened more closely, then replied, "Yeah, I do," before he looked and walked over to the wide window on the wall to see outside, trying to spot the source of the sound.

Regan had walked over with him, she and her daughter both glancing up to the skyline where they saw what they were looking for easily due to the lights that were shining toward them. It was the team of special ops that Leon had told them was coming to give them some help, flying through the clear night time sky and right toward the hospital.

Suddenly Regan smiled and looked down at Shannon, saying, "Well, look at that, Squirt. It's one of those little flying doodads."

Shannon let out a soft snicker, the joke seeming to be something between the two of them as far as Chris could tell as he watched Shannon looking up at her mother and saying quietly, "I remember that. It's doohickeys, mama, not doodads."

Smirking over the comment, Regan patted her girl's back and then rubbed it when she heard Chris asking curiously, "What are you two talking about?"

"Long story," Regan told him as she glanced over with a little smile on her face. "I'll tell ya about it later."

Chris wondered about it for a moment, but he decided to just hold her to that and looked back outside with her. The relief of seeing the helicopters was refreshing, but there was still the problem of making it across the floor they were currently located on without dying. Still, they were grateful to actually be seeing it at all, watching for a moment as the helicopter got closer and closer, thus making it bigger and the sound louder before it finally disappeared overhead, the three of them taking in the moment for what it was.

When it finally got out of sight from their perspectives, Chris looked back over at the two ladies and said, "Let's get going, we don't want to keep them waiting for us," and there was a hint of humored irony to his tone that made Regan smirk.

Moving on, they began to head down the hallways, unable to hear anything that might've been dangerous up ahead as they made it to a turn past the nurses station they'd come across initially before hearing the helicopters. They took the turn warily, aiming and making sure the coast was clear, and not only was it clear, it was blocked by a large section of the roof that had fallen into the path.

With a groan, Regan muttered out in response to the sight, "This is starting to become a badly written horror flick."

"You just described my entire life," Chris replied, looking to see a single door settled right in front of the cave in, and he shined the flashlight across the wall to see that the label next to it read 'Autopsy Room A'.

Letting out a silent groan of breath, he looked over at Regan to add, "See what I mean?"

Regan dejectedly sighed out her breath, but she didn't comment when she heard her daughter asking a question.

"What's a um," Shannon started on a very quiet voice, and she stopped for a second because she was unable to figure out the word on the label next to the door completely. She could have probably done so if given enough time, but she didn't feel like it just then, so she simply looked up at Regan and asked instead, "What's that?"

"Nothing, Squirt," Regan told her, "just another room of the hospital that we'll have to be careful moving through."

While she'd given her daughter the simple explanation, Chris walked over and took the handle of the door, pushing it down to unlatch it, which slowly opened up to a very dark room inside. Still, the flashlight revealed an entryway into a chamber where two rows of examination tables were lined up on each side, placed about three feet from the walls and six feet apart down the middle isle. On the far wall were hatches for the storage units where dead bodies were typically kept, all of them shut at current.

As Chris stepped in, shining the light about everything, he also noticed that there were black body bags laying across the top of each one of those tables—more than one on some of them—and none of those bags were empty.

It was easy to tell from the way they were shaped that each of the bags had a corpse inside of it. Whether they were dead or undead however was another question, but on the plus side, there weren't any free roaming zombies wandering about at all, or any other types of monsters.

On the other side of the room was another door that led to an observation area beyond glass windows on the adjacent wall that were used for viewing procedures being performed by medical students in training and the like. Hopefully, there would be a door inside that observation room that would open up to the same hallway they'd just left at a point past the cave in that they were trying to get around which would allow them to continue onward.

After realizing this, Chris looked back at Regan as she walked in with Shannon right next to her, seeing that her jaw was clenching as if she were trying to swallow what was placed before her now. Somehow, she looked more unsettled than usual, dread on her face that he'd seen dozens of times before.

Shannon had taken her mother's leg when Regan came to a stop, asking on an unsettled whisper, "Mama...? Why are they in bags?"

Regan reached down and rubbed Shannon's shoulder, but didn't give a verbal response except to draw out the sound, "Shh," as she looked about. She felt trapped in the room when she saw the bodies laying on the tables, something about the sight of it getting under her skin. There wasn't too much space between the tables and the walls, and walking that close to them wasn't an idea she relished, but she'd rather do that than go between them somehow.

Still, a shiver worked its way up her spine when she considered it as she let her eyes scan the room, and she finally noticed the look on Chris's face. The expression made her come to from her distraction and let out a slow breath, attempting to get her nerves under control.

"You okay?," he asked softly.

Pursing her lips, she glanced around the darkly lit room once again and asked him, "You know how everyone has a trigger?"

"Yeah," he replied, knowing that most everyone had something, regardless of what it might be, that triggered their fear, sometimes to an irrational point.

Unwilling to say aloud that something about the room was getting under her skin in a particular fashion for the worry that it might make Shannon feel even worse than she already did, Regan just gave him a look that said she wasn't feeling very comfortable in particular just then.

Chris got the point from her expression, and it wasn't something new to him. Some people had trouble handling places like this. Making it worse, they both heard some shuffling coming from somewhere inside the room, probably a body in one of the bags, and Regan jumped a little. But she saw nothing, and forced herself to relax before she took aim at all, needing to stay in control of her instincts.

Shannon looked up to her mother for strength after all, so Regan breathed slowly, keeping as relaxed a hold on her gun as she could. She looked down at Shannon then to make sure she hadn't been startled when the child suggested, "I think the bags were to keep them from biting people and make it safer maybe."

Chris had looked back at the room in response to the shuffling sound, though he didn't see any of the bags moving. He only heard the noise before it stopped, followed by what Shannon had said she figured the bags were used for. It was amusing to hear her reasoning when she didn't know what the real story was all about, and he had to admit it was clever even though it probably wouldn't work too well. A bag wouldn't completely stop a zombie after all, though it _would_ prevent it from finding someone so easily.

But he didn't want to linger, just as the two with him didn't. "There's nothing in the way. We'll move fast to the other side."

Regan gave him a nod, saying simply, "Okay." She then reached down and lifted Shannon up to carry her, turning to head in behind him and toward the examination tables while keeping her mind off of what was there and what the damned things were typically used for, or trying to anyway.

Chris moved around to the side of the room where they only had about three feet of space between the wall and the tables the bags were on to work with. Though the gap between the tables at the center of the room was a good bit wider, he knew that going between them. It would be a tactical disadvantage if anything sprung to life on them anyway, so the wall was their best bet.

One thing Chris didn't know about Regan yet was how she reacted to _extreme_ fear. She might actually take off and try to push him out of her way at any moment if something moved, saying she was at that level of anxiety, or she might end up feeling frozen and immobile. Then again, she may just manage to go all the way to the door without a problem, or she might start shooting and wasting ammo. Judging by the way she'd reacted to the shuffling sound they'd heard though, she seemed to be keeping a level head, but Chris kept the notions in mind just in case something startled her without warning in a way he hadn't encountered with her yet.

Regan stuck to the wall the entire time, her weapon in her free hand and her eyes on what she could actually see around the room with the light of the flashlight that Chris was facing forward as she carried her daughter who was keeping her head down and eyes shut. They moved swiftly enough and got to the door at the other end, where he took the latch into hand but paused before opening it to check through the windows for signs of danger lurking in the darkness on the other side of the room.

That was the moment they heard a little thud sounding just behind them.

Regan turned and aimed without question because the sound had been so close, but nothing was out of place when she'd looked. As she'd looked, the door started to open at Chris's hand, and just when he was about to tell her to come on, Regan saw movement on a table, one of the bags rustling before slowly sitting up.

To make matters worse, it was laying on the table right across from them.

Regan ended up backing up right into Chris, who'd expected the movement. He just put up an arm around her side where she held Shannon who still had her face hidden and turned with them both to get them inside, shutting the door behind them all as the body bag rolled off of the table and onto the floor behind them, letting out a low groan of sound.

Inside of the observation room, Regan got a frustrated look over the scare she'd just gotten, wishing it wouldn't keep happening every five minutes, and suddenly cussed out the word, "Shit." Taking another deep breath, she then added, "Sorry, Shannon."

Shannon shrugged her shoulders in response, apparently thinking that her mother's expletive was appropriate for the situation. She then asked as Regan settled her back onto her feet, "What happened? One of them moved?"

"Did you keep your eyes closed?" Regan asked her curiously in response.

"Uh huh," Shannon nodded. "I didn't want to see anything."

"Well, in that case, nothing happened," Regan replied, patting her daughter's head. She didn't want to tell the girl anything about it, then looked over at Chris as he'd gone to check the corridor outside of the room they were in and make sure it was safe.

Before she could apologize for being a coward and backing into him like she had, movement from the autopsy room caught Regan's eye, and she looked over to see the body bag on the other side of the glass rising up not far from the window as if the body inside of it were trying to stand. The sight made her jolt to the side and slap her hand over her mouth to stop herself from letting out any startled sounds because it was so sudden. The damned thing had worked its way across the floor and to the other side of the glass, and she looked ahead at the door again, determined not to watch it while pulling Shannon around to try to keep her from seeing it as well.

Sadly, she still heard it making a few thuds against the glass as if it couldn't stand up properly, the top half hitting against it more than once before falling back over and out of sight again. Regan rolled her eyes, wanting so badly to turn around and just shoot the damned thing because it was irritating as hell, and startling when you didn't see it coming like she hadn't when it'd first happened.

But to her relief, Chris announced just then, "Come on, it's clear outside." She wasted no time in leaving the observation room with him and once in the hallway, she stopped for a few moments to try to clear her head.

Shannon looked up at her mother and asked her quietly, "You okay, mama?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Squirt," Regan nodded. But after the sewer and the damned dogs, not to mention thinking her daughter had been grabbed outside, this kind of thing was starting to wear on her.

She tried to think of something pleasant, like just getting to the helicopter already, to keep herself more at ease. But at ease or not, she was also pissed off, though the way she figured it, being pissed off was better than being so scared you couldn't do a damned thing.

In either case though, she looked at Chris to say, "Sorry, I didn't mean to—," and she stopped apologizing when he started shaking his head at her as if he knew what she'd been about to say.

"Don't apologize, it's not like you knew it was going to happen." To prove that he understood it, he then asked her to make sure, "Ready to go?"

"Definitely," she nodded, sounding a little irritated as she mentioned, "just tired of all the constant pop scares." With a shake of her head, she suddenly had a thought, and asked Chris with a bit of scrutiny in her voice, "And you do this kind of thing for a living?"

Chris snorted quietly, shrugging a shoulder as he replied plainly, "Not always, but this is a part of it, yeah. Why?"

Regan started to shake her head at him and simply shrugged her shoulders as they began to head down the hallway, though she definitely wondered just what kind of person it would take to willingly go through this kind of anxiety and fear whenever they had to in order to fight the people who tried to cause these kinds of things.

With the thought in mind, as he took up the lead and she drew her weapon back up before taking her daughter's hand, Regan muttered out quietly more to herself than anyone else, "_Así que__ e__l hombre tiene cojones de acero. __¿Por qué__ no me sorprende?_"

Looking over, Chris couldn't help but give her a curious look that was a little amused over what she might've just spoken, asking her, "What's that mean?"

"Nothing," Regan replied without hesitation, though she seemed amused about whatever it was she'd said in particular anyway.

Chris eyed her a little suspiciously as Regan just smirked a little, deciding he'd have to find out later what she'd just been muttering about, and focused now on reaching the end of the new corridor instead.

They both got their minds onto their surroundings, careful of each door they passed as they went in case something were to suddenly jump out at them. At the end of the corridor, Shannon stayed by the wall while the two adults rounded the corner with their guns drawn to look down the hallway. Seeing nothing there except for a boarded up door at the other end, they would have relaxed a little more, but they both heard pounding coming from somewhere up ahead.

After a moment of silence, they could finally tell that it was coming from behind the same door they could see that was boarded over, which was shaking and rattling a bit against the barricade of wooden planks nailed into the walls around it. It didn't look as if it would be opening any time soon now though, so they were safe from whatever was inside at least.

"Alright, come on," Chris told them when he realized what was going on, and began to step on ahead.

Regan looked over at Shannon who was staying around the corner in hiding while they'd checked the corridor out, and motioned to her. The little girl nodded and walked over, grabbing her mother's hand as they began walking down the dark hallway and toward the room where the pounding got louder and louder.

In response, Shannon squeezed her mother's hand more tightly because she was afraid of what might've been on the other side of the door, and she felt Regan rubbing her thumb into the back of hers in a silent gesture of comfort.

The group rounded the next corner and took aim with the flashlight shining out into a hallway that only went so far before it cut off into a much wider area. The sound of moaning could be heard sporadically coming from the darkness beyond it, making the trio stay put there quietly for a moment with the door behind them still shaking from time to time and the threat of zombies hiding in the dark ahead of them.

The good news was that they could see a set of double doors that had an exit sign above them at the end of a somewhat narrow hallway beyond the larger area where the moaning was coming from. The sign meant the stairwell was beyond it. They'd have to move through the wider room to reach it, but they didn't have a real choice with where they could go just then anyway.

Quietly, Regan asked, "Should we just run for it?"

"Yeah, the area's wide enough to get by them. I'll focus left, you right. Shannon, get between us and grab our belts."

Shannon stepped around her mother and got between her and Chris, taking their belts into both hands like he'd told her to so that she wouldn't loose them, and if she did, they'd know it. Once she was there, Chris looked down at her to see her taking in a deep breath as if preparing herself for what they had to do next, and then at Regan, who gave him a nod that said she was ready to do this.

"Let's go," he said when he saw it, and stepped forward, making his way to the edge of the room, and he shined the light to the right first, seeing five zombies standing in various places, then to the left, where there were six more of them. The area was apparently some kind of lounge room possessing vending machines and some seating areas and fake plants for decoration. But they didn't have long to take that information in because when they'd stepped into view, the zombies standing about all began to turn and start wandering toward them.

That was their queue to move, and they took off running when Chris said so. Regan couldn't see as well without the flashlight while they made their way to the empty corridor at the other end of the room, aiming their weapons with one focused left and the other right, but she did notice one zombie's silhouette moving much faster through the darkness than the others in specific.

"Runner!," she called to Chris in simple warning, knowing he'd get what she meant while heading into the next corridor where the doors were located about ten feet away from them and there was less room on each side. They both stopped and turned around in order to face the swiftly moving crimson head coming for them now with their weapons aimed.

It was right on top of them as well. As soon as Chris noticed it, his instincts kicked in and he pulled the trigger without much thought behind the action at all, blowing the monster's head off before it could reach them completely, though it'd come damned close. The body went falling back onto the floor without further movement, leaving the remaining corpses to wander in behind it.

Regan hadn't gotten her sights quite on the zombie when Chris put it down, so she covered him instead, and when the other, slower moving zombies didn't make it there quite as fast, saying they were all the typical, slow walking kind, he looked back and said, "Go!"

Regan took Shannon's hand so that they could head through the stairwell doors, and as soon as she'd taken a few steps to reach them, she heard a loud crash behind her as well as a grunted yell coming out of Chris. The sound got her to stop at the door and turn back around while the source of light in the room, being Chris's flashlight, went rolling toward her shoes and spun around in circles a few times.

The turning light made it hard to adjust her vision at first in trying to find out what had just happened, but it stopped soon enough as it spun around to face where Chris was now, revealing that a portion of the ceiling had just caved in and down on top of him. He was now pinned to the floor on his side beneath the rubble, and as for the culprit of the crash, Regan had never seen anything like it before in her entire life. She stared with wide eyes while pushing her daughter back and behind herself into the corner of the walls near the doors in response to the sight of it.

It was standing on top of the rubble with it's back facing her, though it was turning around as the pattering sounds of caulk fell from the broken roof above them. The skin was green in color and scaly, like some type of lizard, two rows of sharp spikes across it's back and two large claws on its front arms. It was making a low pitched croaking sound that wasn't at all pleasant to hear as it began to turn around to face them.

Shaking his head as he came to after the crash, Chris could feel a good bit of pain wracking his body from the gash on his back which had apparently been reopened when the heavy rubble had impacted him. There was another sharp pain in his left shoulder as well, but for reasons he couldn't discern in that moment. It was somewhat hard to breathe due to the weight bearing down on him, but he tried to orientate himself and looked up, ignoring the pain he was in for the moment when he saw the creature now standing over him, leering down with golden eyes and a sharp toothed grimace on its face.

It was an enemy he'd encountered the likes of one too many times previously, and without question, it raised up a claw. Narrowing his brows as it did so, Chris swore in a pointedly drawn out fashion that sounded more annoyed than it did fearful.

"Oh _shit_."

Just before it could swipe a blow down at the pinned man, the butt of a shotgun rammed into its head, knocking it backwards and preventing it from killing the pinned man in that moment. Regan had moved in swiftly when she realized the creature wasn't immediately going to come after her or Shannon, perhaps because they were standing on the other side of the flashlight which might've helped to mask them from it's vision. Then again, Chris was an easy kill for it to get. But whatever the reason for ignoring her, Regan took her chance when she got it.

The hit knocked it backwards, though not terribly far. Still, it gave her enough time that, at the close range, she turned the shotgun back around and aimed it, then fired, blowing a hole into the unfamiliar monster that spurted dark green blood out, pumping the barrel as the creature let out a shriek. It retaliated by rearing back as if to suddenly swipe out at her when Regan fired again, the shells going flying in a spread into the monster's head and torso, knocking it backwards even further where it landed on the marble floor.

With the third pump of the barrel, she moved to the side near the wall and aimed at the creature laying on its back now, uncertain as to whether it was dead or not. But it suddenly pushed itself back up with a shriek, and she reacted to the shock of the movement by pulling the trigger a third time with a gasp of breath. With that shot, she caught the legs of a zombie that was getting closer in the process, making it fall over.

The monster let another screech out, and Regan decided not to wait to see if it were really dead this time or not, moving in closer and firing once again. Finally, the body began to shudder as death came for it, and Regan let out a low sigh of breath, but didn't celebrate right then. Instead, she turned around to see her daughter still hiding in the corner with her hands over her face, and then went to try to help Chris.

"Stay right there, Shannon," she said as she knelt down near him.

Chris had already tried to push the debris off of his chest in the meantime, though his good arm was pinned beneath his side while a sharp, metal spoke embedded in the material weighing him down had jabbed it's way into his left shoulder, which was bleeding now. It wasn't too deep of a wound, but every time he pushed up, he could feel it tearing into his skin further, and though it wasn't the worst pain Chris had ever felt, it was hindering his efforts of freeing himself a good bit.

He realized it was going to take him longer than he actually had with the monsters still approaching them in order to get out from under it, but he grunted as he tried to push against the weight again anyway when Regan came over to help.

The zombies were drawing in much more closely now, and Regan realized as she took the heaviest piece of rubble into hand that there was just too much that would have to be moved first due to its weight, leaving her aide useless in that particular moment. Apparently Chris realized it too because of what he next told her.

"Just get Shannon the hell out of here," he grunted out when he felt the weight of the heavy debris once more settling against him, thinking that Regan could at least get Shannon to safety no matter what happened to him.

Regan heard him, but she was getting tired of all of the close call bullshit they'd had to deal with that night, pissed off that they couldn't just walk through a damned room without something popping up on them. So she looked back while still crouched near him to find the flashlight laying on the floor, and reached over for it.

Once she had it in hand, she pushed herself up and turned to face the approaching undead with the words, "Be right back."

Chris looked up from his struggling to see Regan drawing out her handgun instead of running, and when she stood before the area of the floor he was currently pinned to and faced the zombies, he suddenly yelled, "Regan!" She started to fire, and he went on, "Just go, goddamn it!"

One by one, Regan took down the zombies approaching them with her weapon in one hand and the flashlight crossed over the other. It wasn't hard for her to nail them in the heads when they weren't so far away from her even though she was much better with a rifle than a handgun. She didn't think about it though, she just pulled the trigger, sending her bullets into their skulls one at a time as they would fall backwards, blood splattering all over the floor behind them until the marble was stained a dark red.

When one of them got close enough as Regan had aimed to the opposing side, she lifted her leg and quickly kicked the corpse in the gut to push it away from herself as hard as she could. The zombie stumbled backwards and then fell over while she turned her aim to the one behind it and fired again. Finally, they were all down except the one she'd kicked over, and now able to focus on it, Regan squeezed the trigger a final time, her gun smoking and completely empty of bullets with the last zombie dead.

As she'd done this, Chris had been pushing, working his right arm free of his own weight as much as he could until he'd managed to shift enough that he had use of it again, ignoring the spoke stabbing into him whenever he shifted. Without pause, he pushed his right hand into the floor when it was free and used his body to tilt the rubble he'd been pinned beneath to the side all at once with a grunt of effort. Once he had his left arm against it, he shoved it back with another grunt, but this one was due to the pain he felt as the spoke was pulled out of his shoulder with the hard motion.

Regan looked around at the undead that she'd just laid to waste for only a brief moment when she'd heard the sound of Chris trying to free himself, and she turned to see that he'd managed to get most of it to the side, moving over to help push it the rest of the way back.

With the extra aide, Chris pulled his legs back and turned, letting the heavy rubble fall back to the floor before he clutched at his new wound and took in a deep breath. As the debris settled into place, he looked over at Regan and said, "I told you to go."

"I heard you, Chris," she replied as she sat back and put her emptied handgun onto her belt. "But why would I just leave you here when I could get you out?"

"Because I just got myself out, and I'm armed," he retorted, ire present in his voice. "You should've gotten Shannon out of here."

Regan's brows narrowed as she gave him a look that begged the question 'oh really?'. She got the feeling that he was just as frustrated as she was with the situation in general though, and not necessarily upset with her. So she didn't take it seriously, but she did decide to tell him what she thought exactly.

"You know what, screw you. I told you the same thing earlier and you said not to argue, so don't be a hypocrite now, Chris."

She was standing up straight as she spoke these words on a rather plain tone of voice, and noticed that Shannon was still settled in the corner, but she was watching the two of them now curiously. Seeing that she was alright, Regan stopped next to Chris who'd just checked his shoulder out, continuing with the words, "Besides, I didn't forget what you said when we got here, and I'm not leaving anyone behind, not when we're almost there."

She offered her hand to him then and asked, "So how bad is your shoulder?"

Chris looked like he wanted to say something to argue with her, but she was right. He couldn't expect her to just take off and leave him behind when he wouldn't do the same thing. He'd also said he trusted her, and he looked at her hand as she'd offered it to him just as the thought had entered his head. Reaching up, he took it with his right hand, getting up from the floor and onto his feet again.

Finally he gave her a response in a more normal tone than he'd used a moment beforehand. "It's not bad, but my back's bleeding again, I can feel it. I'll be fine for now though."

Regan gave a nod that said she was glad to hear it, thinking he could last until the rescue teams got there to offer him some kind of medical aide. As she went to walk past him and toward Shannon, ready to ask him about the monster that had attacked him when the roof had caved in, she noticed that he'd suddenly turned and aimed his shotgun upwards when he saw something moving above them in the hole the ceiling now possessed.

Regan reacted by turning to aim upwards with her shotgun as well since her handgun was now empty, and though she hadn't seen anything, she'd heard a bit of movement. A little more caulk fell from the hole just afterward, and suddenly a bright light shined down toward them that caused them both to squint when a voice sounded out the question, "Hey, you still a part of the livin' down there?"

Chris raised up a hand to shield his eyes while replying flatly, "Somewhat." He couldn't see whoever it was because of the light though, so he then asked to be sure of their identity, "You from Dallas?"

"I'll be damned, yeah, that's us, so sit tight if it's safe down there. The others are coming down the stairs that way now, we're just holding the lines up here for everyone." He continued by getting onto a headset so he could report to his captain about what he'd just come across, giving the team the survivors' location.

Chris could already hear shuffling coming from inside of the doorways behind him, and gunfire went off without warning, followed by a man letting an angry yell and then a crunch of sound, and things got silent aside from more footsteps. Finally, they'd made it, and Chris knew that the path ahead of them had already been secured. Now all they had to do was make it to the helipad and wait.

Whether for a flight or for a fight was the only question left, aside from wondering when, where, and how Wesker would show up.


End file.
